Words
by driveldrabble
Summary: Living with Tourette's for the last decade, Peeta has come to terms with the fact that words are not his friends. But when a new member of staff breezes into his life, with her own direct abruptness, he starts to rethink the life he has settled for. Not PC and probably very OOC. Gratuitous swearing from the very beginning (and a lot of sex later on) so avoid if this offends you.
1. Chapter 1

**WARNING: The aim of** **this story is in no way to ridicule or make fun of people with Tourette's or the condition in general. However this story is never going to be classed as politically correct and I have to admit to having twisted the symptoms of Tourette's to fit my story. Saying that, this story is based on a real guy that I watched a documentary about, so there is at least some amount of reality to it. Oh and there will be gratuitous use of strong language from the off-set (and a lot of sex later on) so if that is likely to offend you please don't read on...  
**

 **Words**

 **September**

PPOV

The kitchen door swings open and Rory breezes in with his usual cheery greeting of, "Mornin' boss." He's in another good mood today. I don't know how he manages it, as from the stories he tells, he spends nearly every night down the pub or clubbing with his mates. I honestly didn't expect him to last more than a week of early mornings when he first started here. We only gave him the kitchen job because his mum, Hazelle, has been working at the café since it opened. But give Rory his due, he seems to cope with the late nights/early mornings. He's always on time and almost never hungover. I find it exhausting just thinking about it, perhaps I'm getting old.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fucking slut!" Is the reward Rory gets for his morning cheerfulness.

Rory simply takes my response in his stride, the insult not denting his smile. He knows it's not directed at him. It took him a while to get used to my outbursts and tics when he first started here though, but then it does most people. There are some who will never be fully comfortable around me, no matter how long or how well they know me.

I put down the knife I'm holding, shake my hands out and roll my shoulders, bouncing on my toes in an attempt to loosen the building pressure in my body and relax. It's not working though, not today. I had a terrible sleep last night, and the one before that as well, and my 'unfortunate afflictions' as my mother calls them are always much worse when I'm tired or stressed.

That's when the verbal outbursts - the symptom of my Tourette's that my mother has always found most abhorrent - are at their worst. Sometimes my Tourette's merely manifests itself as a mildly annoying throat bob, like I'm trying to swallow something stuck in my throat, at other times a jerk of my chin and a facial tic that makes me blink. But even those 'mild' symptoms can become so exaggerated that they interfere with what I'm trying to do. My lack of sleep over the last couple of nights is clearly aggravating my physical tics today. No matter how much I hate having to admit defeat to my condition, I know I'm going to have to get Rory to finish chopping the vegetables before I lose a finger.

"Oh yeah, I nearly forgot. Delly said can you pop out and have a word with her?" Rory says, thumbing over his shoulder at the door that leads to the café's front of house.

"Yeah sure…FISH…can you finish chopping these," I ask, gesturing at the board of vegetables, relieved to have an excuse to hand them over.

Delly looks up from where she's sat at one of the tables and smiles widely at me. She's got a bit of what looks like chocolate muffin clinging to the lipstick on her top lip, guilty evidence of a morning snack. She keeps moaning about the amount of weight she's put on during her pregnancy but - and I wouldn't be stupid enough to actually voice this - not all of it is due to the baby.

"Fucking slut!" The jerk of my chin throws my head back, the outburst more explosive than the one moments ago in the kitchen.

Like Rory, Delly isn't the slightest bit fazed. She's known me since we were kids, way before my Tourette's started. Our families move in the same circle, go to the same dinner parties and play golf at the same country club. Delly and I went to the same exclusive school together, briefly and unsuccessfully dated when we were about 14 and, after she graduated with first class honours and had become disillusioned with her marketing job, it was Delly who had the idea to open this place together. In fact without her there would be no Café Cornucopia, it was her first baby.

Delly gives me a concerned look. "Didn't you sleep well again last night?"

I shake my head, but the stupid thing nods upwards with a jerk at the same time, confusing the action.

"You did remember that Hazelle is having her operation tomorrow?" Delly continues.

"I've got some…" I blink and nod interrupting my flow, "biscuits for Rory to take home for her tonight."

"Oh well done, that's a lovely idea," she says, sounding happily surprised. "Hazelle's doctor is expecting her to be off work for about two months so whilst she's away her niece is going to cover her hours."

I nod. I already know all this. Delly seems to live under the impression that I get caught up in my work and forget everything else. It's true I have been known to lose track of time and what day of the week it is, but I'm nowhere near as bad as Delly thinks I am.

"Katniss is just hanging up her bag and coat in the storeroom. Oh here she is," Delly says. I turn as the door to my right opens. I was expecting Rory's cousin to be close to his age, a girl in her late teens, but Katniss is clearly older than him, mid-twenties at a guess, and with a figure that is most definitely a woman's and not a girl's.

I try to focus on her face and not the evident curves of her body. Her face - tanned by the months that Hazelle told me her niece has been overseas - is framed by messy tendrils of dark hair that have spilled out of a rough ponytail. Her hair looks as if it hasn't seen a brush once in the entire time she's been travelling and is one step away from becoming dreads. Her eyes are rimmed and smudged with dark eyeliner, and there's a small ring through her left nostril. Yet somehow, despite her more than casual dress and unruly hair, she doesn't look at all scruffy. There's something about her assured, confident demeanour that states she wouldn't care if I, or anyone else, thought she was anyway.

As Katniss walks towards us her loose-fitting, wide necked top slides off one shoulder to expose an expanse of smooth, sun-kissed skin. The vest top, that she's wearing beneath her baggy top, is low cut enough to offer a glimpse of cleavage and my eyes linger there a second too long until I drag my gaze away to the floor. She's wearing an impressively kick-ass pair of biker boots which end mid-calf where a pair of faded black leggings begin, clinging to her toned legs like a second skin. They're so worn that in places they are practically see-through and there's a tiny hole just on the inside of her right thigh, that for a second I become fixated on, before once again I force my gaze to move on. It lands on the tiny, grey, strip of stretch jersey material masquerading as a skirt that is wrapped about her hips. Although she's facing me I know it must hug her ass in the same way. I blink hard as my face tics and I fail in my attempt to stop myself picturing what she is going to look like when she turns around.

My chin jerks up again and I press my fingers to my lips desperate for the words not to come out in front of her.

I've lived with Tourette's for over a decade now, yet I still struggle on a daily basis not to let it define me. To be me and not just 'that guy with Tourette's', which I know is how people invariably refer to me. I think I've succeeded to a certain degree. I have good friends, Delly - who is more like family than my real family, and a successful business doing something I love. It's more than a lot of other people can claim. Whilst it's true I keep myself to myself a lot of the time, I don't intentionally hide away from the world. Perhaps my skin could do with being a little thicker, but over the years I've come to terms with the fact that people will either accept me for who I am or they won't, and that is entirely up to them. I'm not going to change for them. I can't.

Yet it's suddenly, desperately important to me not to embarrass myself in front of Katniss, or worse embarrass her. I don't want to have to witness her reaction to one of my tics and see the inevitable sign of pity, embarrassment or amusement in her eyes.

It's a pointless fight though. If she's going to be working here for two months I'm sure it won't take long for her to witness my Tourette's in all its freakish glory. The way I've been behaving this morning she'll have probably heard the full repertoire by the end of the day. It would just be nice to get through the introductions first.

There are certain phrases, words that tend to explode from me more often than others. Not all of them are offensive, some are completely random. Fish has for some reason always been a recurring favourite, but sometimes it's whatever has been bothering me or if I've had something on my mind for a while. But offensive or not all, of them can be annoying and embarrassing.

"Slut! Fucking slut!" Well that didn't take long, she knows now.

Katniss doesn't act at all shocked though, just raises one eyebrow, watching me with dark kohl rimmed eyes as if waiting for me to say something else. I search her eyes as she watches me. They aren't full of the expected disgust, embarrassment nor thankfully pity. I'm not even sure that it's amusement glowing in her interested grey eyes. I don't know what she's thinking right now, but I wish more than ever that I could have avoided exposing my Tourette's to her. That for just one moment – right here, right now, in front of her - I could have been someone else. Someone who could make an impression on her for the right reason.

"Katniss this is Peeta. Peeta, Katniss," Delly introduces us, a bit pointlessly as I think we already know.

Katniss sticks out her hand and her top slips a little further off her shoulder so that I can clearly see the round of her breast beneath her tight vest top. "Nice to meet you Peeta," she says.

I put out my hand to take hers and unintentionally, loudly, blurt the very worst of my stock phrases, "COME ON YOUR TITS!"

My heart sinks as my colour rises with the sure knowledge that there is no chance now that this beautiful, self-assured woman will ever see me as anything other than 'that guy with tourette's'.

KPOV

"Slut! Fucking Slut!"

I'm not shocked by Peeta's words. Hazelle warned me all about Peeta's Tourette's, so I was expecting it. But she did leave something out, something just as bloody important if you ask me. It would have been nice if she'd given me a heads up about how bloody hot he is. If I'd known I was going to come face to face with some sort of gorgeous, golden angel, I might not have been rendered speechless unable to respond in any way other than to raise my eyebrows in an attempt not to look an overawed moron, shit I might have even brushed my hair.

If there is a god, which honestly I've always been a bit dubious about, then he has got one sick, twisted sense of humour, creating this beautiful creature and then giving him a filthy mouth that he can't control. A beautiful, filthy mouthed angel. Damn, that's a thought I know I'm going to be revisiting when I'm in bed alone tonight.

Peeta's cheeks flush a gentle shade of pink against his otherwise pale complexion. Strawberry ice cream and cream. I wonder if he tastes as good. My eyes fix on his offending lips. They've just the right fullness for a man. I can imagine taking the plump bottom lip of that dirty mouth between my teeth and….

Shit! Delly is still talking to me and I haven't heard a word, having let my wayward fantasies - of one of my new bosses, for Christ's sake! – overtake me. I need to get a grip and behave, this is Aunt Haze's job I could screw up here. I listen as Delly makes introductions, even though it's pretty obvious that I'm Katniss the new girl and he's Peeta the co-owner. The beautiful, hot, built, co-owner. I quickly stick my hand out to shake his before my thoughts can stray again.

"Come on your tits!" Peeta splurts, as his chin juts upwards.

He looks utterly mortified. The delicate strawberry blush of his cheeks instantly darkens. He's gone this colour, I'm not quite sure what you'd call it, He's not red exactly but really really fucking pink. If it was a paint colour it would be something like 'humiliated flamingo' or 'kill me know salmon'. The involuntary jerking nod that accompanies his look of pure horror and the way his eyes screw shut as he blinks looks uncomfortable to the point of painful, it makes me want to save him from his discomfort. I know Aunt Haze instructed me to just ignore the things Peeta says but my natural tendency to lapse into teasing banter kicks in, partly to alleviate the situation and partly because I just can't help it.

"You should probably buy me dinner first," I smile. Despite my desire only seconds ago to lessen his unease there is something cruelly adorable about the resulting panicked confusion on his face.

"Only kidding," I wink. He looks mildly more relaxed but I can't resist, it's just far too easy. "A drink will do."

.

.

PPOV

If there were any justice in the world at all, it would be easy for me to keep out of Katniss's way. After all how hard should it be? The reason why this place works so well is because I stay in the kitchen and Delly deals with the public.

People who know me well, which includes our more regular customers, have become used to my 'condition'. They know I don't actually mean any real insult from the words I say. _"_ _He can_ _'_ _t help it._ _"_ Jeez, how many times have I heard that excuse? I hate it and its implication that I'm some sort of hapless imbecile unable to control himself. But strangers are not expecting to encounter my Tourette's when ordering their coffee, so it's better for everyone that I leave the customer facing part of the business to Delly. Besides, the kitchen is where I want to be anyway.

I suppose it was unrealistic of me to hope that in a place this small, within a small team of staff, that I could avoid Katniss. Yet I still don't understand how the very opposite happens instead, that no matter how much I try to hide out in the kitchen, somehow our paths seem destined to cross with increasing frequency on a daily basis.

Funny thing is Katniss doesn't seem to need time to get used to my Tourette's. She just takes it in her stride, like me cursing at her is nothing. She never looks shocked or insulted, her lips always turn up like she's amused or something but never in a malicious way, as has happened with others in the past.

"Two soups of the day, with tomato bread and two chicken baguettes," the object of my thoughts orders, breezing into the kitchen.

'Shit-sticks!" I spit to my horror. Why is there never any warning with her? Usually I can feel it building inside me, like the pressure mounts to the point where my fingers pressed to my lips are futile and then it bursts out, but with her it's always instant. I now it's because she makes me nervous. Her demeanour, the ways she holds herself, it's intimidatingly confident. I don't think I've ever met anyone who is so sure of themselves. She epitomizes everything I am not.

And I never fail to curse at her. I haven't managed one single interaction without expelling some expletive at her. Katniss always just lifts that eyebrow at me, like she did the first time we met.

As Katniss reaches across the counter to pin her written order to the waiting list, I start ticing. My facial tic, that makes me blink, is more severe with her than anyone else, and my chin juts viciously into the air practically every time I have to I interact with her. _Oh god, please_ , I silently plead. _Can_ _'_ _t you just give me a break when it comes to Katniss Everdeen._

She breezes back out of the kitchen, as if nothing happened, which for some reason makes the whole thing worse. Perhaps masochistically, I wish she wasn't quite so wholly unaffected by me.

As she leaves the room I can't help dropping my eyes to that tight, ridiculously tiny skirt she's wearing again today. Her ass looks incredible, so much better than I first imagined. My mind instantly strays to fantasizing about what it would look like when it's not covered up by those threadbare leggings and ludicrously small skirt. Ugh! That thought is definitely not going to help me the next time I have to speak to her. _Please god, don_ _'_ _t let me blurt out anything about her ass_.

* * *

 _ **So what do you think? Worth continuing with? Let me know if you would like to read any more.**_

 _ **Thank you for reading**_

 _ **D**_


	2. Chapter 2

**October Part 1**

KPOV

I'm sat at one of the tables with Delly, wrapping cutlery in napkins for the customers to help themselves to this lunchtime.

"God, my feet are killing me," she groans, flexing her feet within her ballet flats. "Oh sod it," she huffs, kicking off her shoes. "I'll regret that when I can't get my fat feet back into them but _oh_ that feels so much better."

She leans back rubbing her swollen belly. "I can't wait not to be pregnant any more. Don't get me wrong I want this, we planned this, but surely I'm supposed to be glowing not just growing!"

I'm only half listening to her, as I wrap I'm watching Peeta writing on the window in white marker pens.

When I first started I thought it was Delly who was responsible for the artistic announcements in the windows and on the blackboards, but I soon discovered that it was actually Peeta's elegant, flowing script that broadcasts the daily specials to everyone. Right now he's stood on the pavement checking the new adornment to the window he's been working on.

I watch him out the corner of my eye, making sure to continue with the wrapping of the cutlery and hopefully giving the impression that I'm still listening to Delly.

"Fuck! Fucking slut!" Peeta expels, just as a very shocked elderly woman walks past him. She hurries on with a disgusted look and he nods with a jerk and blinks furiously. He tries to carry on working but his continued head jerking is obviously stopping him.

He pauses. Bouncing on the balls of his feet, he shakes out his arms and rolls his neck. It reminds me of a boxer warming up, getting ready to enter the ring. It must work as he's able to start writing on the window again and I watch as he finishes writing about autumn specials and begins to draw some beautifully detailed autumn leaves.

It takes me a second to realise that I've become so totally distracted by the way his biceps look in the tight white t-shirt that he's wearing, that I've stopped wrapping cutlery and also that Delly has stopped talking.

"So…uh… how long have you and Thom been together?" I hurriedly ask.

I do a good job of actively listen to her animated ramble about how the two of them met in college, but I've half tuned out by the time she tells me how long they've been living together.

"So how did you get into business with Peeta?" I try my hardest to look casual, as I nod towards where the depiction of falling autumn leaves now fills the window.

"We've known each other for years, since school. We always joked about opening a place like this, and then we just thought why not, lets really do this. Peeta's an amazing cook it would have been a waste not to give him this opportunity."

"Is Peeta married too?" I ask.

"Peeta?"

"Um… yes," I frown, slightly disconcerted by her complete shock that I should even suggest it.

"No, he's not in a relationship. Things are…it's hard for him you know." I'd like to press her further but she already looks beyond guilty that she's even discussing him this much.

"Shit-sticks!" I chuckle at the loud expletive from Peeta. "That one always makes me smile," I explain, but Delly just frowns disapprovingly at me. I want to explain I'm not laughing at him, but guiltily I wonder if perhaps I am and I find the thought disturbing.

Friday lunchtime is always crazy but it seems even busier today and it's about 3 o'clock, and after we've run out of pretty much everything, that it finally slows down again.

Peeta comes out of the kitchen to collect the trays that when full hold the daily selection of cakes and scones, a task that is ordinarily Rory's job.

Peeta has an apron on and a fuck ugly pair of checked chef's trousers, but I'm not looking at them. I'm looking at the way his arms look in that tight white t-shirt again.

Two girls at a table close to the other side of the bar, start whispering with their heads close together.

"Check the guy out behind the bar."

"I know, he's kind of cute but…"

"Cute he's like…

… _a Greek god,_ I mentally suggest.

 _.._ so hot"

Huh, I snort at her pathetically inadequate praise. I like my description much better.

"Yeah but Octavia knows a girl who went on a date with him and he screamed out "fish" in the middle of the restaurant. I know, weird huh? But that's not all, he ended up calling the waitress a slut. She said it was the most embarrassing night of her life."

I glance at Peeta, just as he looks up and catches my eye. I don't think he can have heard the girls from where he's standing but he still blinks violently like I've noticed he does when he's nervous, or uncomfortable, or basically whenever he speaks to me.

He screws up his eyes as his chin forces its way upwards, and he fights to contain whatever he's about to blurt, his fingers pressed forcefully to his lips.

He makes it back into the kitchen before I hear the expulsion of, "come on your tits!"

"Freak," one of the girls at the table mutters.

I glare at them both, staring them down until they are forced to drop their eyes to the table, shame faced.

Foul-mouthed angel, cursed Greek god perhaps, but Peeta Mellark is absolutely not a freak.

. ~ .

PPOV

Sometimes I really hate the fact that Delly is always right. It was her idea to start opening the café late on Friday and Saturday nights. She was convinced that there would be enough trade, when I wasn't so sure. She talked me into creating a simple tapas inspired menu and now we're always packed, people choosing to stand and eat at the bar when there's no table space. It makes for a long week though and there are plenty of times, like this evening, when I'd rather be sat on the couch at home with a cold beer watching crap on the box instead.

Delly went home about an hour ago after it was clear she was dead on her feet. Rory, Mitchell - one of our weekend staff - and I are chatting as we get ready to leave, having finally finished clearing up. Our conversation is interrupted by the roar of a motorbike as it pulls up outside and is then noisily revved by its rider.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me," Rory grumbles, with a sour look on his face.

Katniss comes out from the back at that point. She's changed her clothes, well somewhat. She's wearing the same boots and leggings that are a constant staple of her wardrobe, but instead of the baggy dark green top she's been wearing all day, she's changed into a short skintight black jersey dress. It hugs her curves and stops at a point mid-thigh that I can't take my eyes off.

"Seriously Katniss?" Rory says, as Katniss slips on her jacket. "You're back, like what, a week and you're dating that dickhead Cato again?"

"Oh Rory," she sighs, patting his cheek like he's a little boy, even though he's a good foot taller than her. "You know I don't date, I just …"

"Fuck?" he finishes for her with blunt humour.

She doesn't argue with him, just shrugs and gives him a smirk that says he's right.

The rider outside gives another impatient rev of his engine but Katniss ignores him, taking her time as she fastens the buttons on her jacket.

"Is that why you've moved in with Jo then?" Rory queries.

"Hazelle doesn't need the disruption of me coming and going late at night," Katniss responds.

"It's the coming that makes all the noise," he says, baiting her with a mischievous grin. But she doesn't rise to his remark, just casually raises her middle finger at him over her shoulder as she heads towards the door. Instead, unexplainably, it's me who is left with heated cheeks from Rory's comment.

I watch as Katniss takes the proffered helmet from the rider's outstretched hand. Putting it on as she straddles the bike behind him. Her dress rides up higher, exposing the hole in her threadbare leggings that seems to grow larger every time she wears them. Then wrapping her arms about the rider, who revs the engine unnecessarily once again, the bike speeds off, cutting across on-coming traffic to disappear amidst beeping horns.

. ~ .

KPOV

I don't know what I was thinking when I texted Cato. The guy is a complete knob. We've been at the club for over an hour and he's done nothing but talk about himself and that bloody bike the whole time. He's also checked out the tits on every girl in the place and has been seriously eye-fucking the barmaid for the last ten minutes.

Not once did he ask me how my trip was, most people have at least a slight flicker of interest when you tell them you've been walking the Inca Trail, but not Cato. If it hasn't got wheels or tits he's not interested. If I'd done the trail topless on a bike, now that would be a different story.

The club is loud and hot and there's no one else here I know. I'm just not in the mood. I'm tired and I want to go to bed. Tonight was a mistake. Texting Cato was a mistake.

And the worst thing is, I do know exactly why I contacted him. The same reoccurring fantasy has been playing in my head whilst I'm alone in bed. Just as my fingers are bring me to climax, I keep picturing a blonde head of hair between my legs, blue eyes looking up at me and I imagine it's his tongue and not my fingers I can feel.

Cato - blonde hair and blue eyes. That's why he's here this evening. Only, despite what I've been telling myself, I know perfectly well that those blue eyes in my fantasy don't belong to him. And Cato sure as hell never felt as good as the fantasy when he actually did deign to go down on me in real life.

I lean in close to Cato's ear so he can hear me over the music, "I'm tired." I see his eyes drop to my cleavage as I tell him, "I just want to go home."

He agrees without argument and drives me to Jo's house where I'm staying whilst I'm back in town. I'm surprised when he gets off his bike to walk me to the front door, its uncharacteristically gentlemanly of him, but when I open the door he steps in with me.

"Look Cato it was nice to see you tonight, but I'm knackered, I just want to go to bed."

"Sounds like a great plan to me," he smirks, stepping us backwards, his mouth finding my neck as my back hits the wall.

"Cato." I try to push him off but he seems oblivious to my attempts, as one heavy hand slips to my ass and the other begins mauling my breast. "Cato!" I push at him harder and he stops sucking on my neck to look at me.

"I'm tired I want you to go," I state firmly.

"You're fucking joking right?" he says, looking anything but amused. "You texted me remember," he continues, with barely contained anger.

"I know, but it was a busy night at the café and I'm exhausted I'm not going to be any fun," I reason, trying to calm him.

"That's all right babe, I'll do all the work for you," he says, pushing his groin up against me and grinding his hips, in what I'm sure he tends to be an erotic way but just makes my stomach churn.

"Cato, please not tonight,' I plead and instantly realise my mistake. The thing about Cato is, he can sniff out weakness a mile a way, he thrives on it. He's just a playground bully that never grew up.

He shakes his head and grabs my wrists as I try to push him off again. "You're such a fucking prick-tease. If you weren't interested you wouldn't have been strutting around in that dress all night with your tits up in my face. I know you want it really."

"Get off of me," I growl, trying to raise my knee but the way he has my body pinned it's no use and his tightening grip on my wrists is really starting to hurt. "Ow Cato, let me go."

"You heard her, get the fuck off of her!" I turn to see Jo on the stairs, stark naked holding a baseball bat. There's a large guy behind her with an angry expression, trying to hold a sheet about his waist with one hand.

"What are you waiting for, get out here," he shouts, backing up Jo's demand.

Cato is no weakling, he spends a ridiculous amount of time down the gym lifting weights with his mates, but he has to know he's no match for the guy standing behind Jo. Jo's friend is built like a brick-shithouse. His biceps are bigger than my waist.

Cato drops my wrists and backs away.

"You can keep them both. Fucking dirty slags, you don't know where they've been,' Cato sneers. With a snarl that matches the murderous look on his face, Jo's friend takes a step forward and Cato fumbles with the door latch as he hurriedly lets himself out.

'God Katniss, Cato again? Don't you remember what bad news he was last time?" Jo scoffs incredulously, at the same time making animated jabbing motions with the baseball bat in my direction and the door that Cato's just closed. "I find it hard to comprehend how you can be so brainless when it comes to men!"

"He's usually ok unless he's been drinking," I say, gritting my teeth. I don't want this conversation, not now and certainly not in front of some random stranger.

"Are you okay," Jo asks, her face softening to something like concern, as she notices the way I'm rubbing my wrists. They really fucking smart where Cato held them bloody tightly and I know they're going to be bruised in the morning.

"I'm fine, I just want to go to bed," I tell her, as I storm past them both on the stairs and head up to my room at the top of the house.

I kick off my boots and flop down on the bed, not bothering to undress or wash first. An hour later I'm still lying there staring at the ceiling, wide awake.

Eventually I strip naked and slip under the covers. I know the failsafe way of relaxing myself to combat insomnia, is to get myself off. I let my fingers work over the increasingly heated sensitive skin between my thighs. This time there is no pretense about who and what I'm thinking about. I allow myself to indulge fully in the fantasy that it is Peeta's mouth I can feel rather than my own fingers, and its his name I end up moaning into my pillow.

. ~ .

PPOV

 _You know I don_ _'_ _t date, I just_ _…fuck._

 _Is that why you've moved in with Jo?_

The conversation keeps rolling unwantedly around in my head.

Is Katniss really seeing one guy and living with another? Is she sleeping with them both? She didn't deny it. Not that it's any of my business. She's just my employee, and a temporary one at that, what she does outside of work has nothing to do with me. But I'm still glad that the bike guy, Cato or whatever he was called, hasn't been back since last Saturday. Especially if he is the one responsible for the bruises.

Katniss was wiping up a spillage and when she rolled up her sleeves I could see the marks on her wrists. She must have suddenly remembered I was there, because she hastily pulled her top back down to cover them up. Maybe she's into kinky stuff like being tied up and restrained and whatnot - I mean each to their own, if that's what turns her on then so be it - but it seems to me, that someone would have had to of held her pretty hard to leave her black and blue like that. I don't like thinking about it.

"Right," says Rory, taking off his apron. "If that's everything done, there's a pint with my name on it waiting for me at the Nag's Head."

It's been another busy Saturday and I'm as keen as him to get out of here. Only I'm looking forward to getting home to bed. I really must be getting old, because I can't understand how he has enough energy right now to think about going out.

Katniss and Lyme have got their coats on leaning against the bar chatting, waiting for us to lock up, when the roar of the bike outside draws everyone's attention.

"Fuck," Katniss mutters, a deep scowl on her face.

Without grabbing her bag she storms outside. Cato has taken his helmet off, and illuminated by the streetlight, I can get a good look at him this time. It doesn't surprise me that he's good looking, I didn't expect anything else from someone Katniss is seeing. He has a strong square face and closely cropped blonde hair like's just stepped out the marines or something, but despite his obvious good looks the way he's smiling at her makes him ugly.

"Who is that?" Lyme behind me asks.

"Cato. He's bad news," Rory answers grimly. "Katniss was seeing him last year before she went away. I can't believe she's back with him again. The guy is a total tosser, especially after he's had a few."

Katniss stands in front of Cato her hands on hips and her back to the café. He says something to her, as he climbs off his bike and she gesticulates angrily back as she replies. When she turns to walk away from him he grabs her and yanks her back roughly.

I hear Rory curse behind me, he takes a step forward but then stops. I can feel his hesitation. He's a tall lad, but a bit of a beanpole, whereas Cato's not just tall he's big as well, and by the look of him he could lay Rory out with one finger.

As I move closer to the door I can hear Cato's raised voice easily.

"Don't give me that bullshit. You were the one that called me the other night, not the other way round. I don't know why your acting so fucking hard to get, when we both know your gagging for it."

"Fuck you," she yells back at him and tries to pull away, but his hold on her is too strong. I see her wince as she turns her face from him and there's no question in my mind that he was the one who gave her the bruises in the first place.

I'm out the door without any hesitation.

"What are you looking at?" Cato demands, and Katniss looks back over her shoulder to see who he's talking to.

"That's my boss," she says, her voice taking on a calm reasoning tone. "Please Cato, just let go of my wrists and we can talk, alone."

Like hell I'm going to let that happen.

I blink and my chin juts violently upwards as I blurt "Fuck Fuck Off."

"What did you say to me?" Cato's face is livid.

"Please Cato, just drop it. He's got Tourette's," Katniss begins to explain. My heart sinks, knowing exactly what she's about to say. What my mother always said to people when I embarrassed her in public. I don't want to hear Katniss say it. "He can't help it, he didn't m…"

Before she can excuse my behaviour any further I stride forward closing the distance between us. "I told you to fuck off and I meant it. Now let go of her."

"Don't tell me what to do," Cato fumes, although he does drop her arms anyway, so that he can step closer to me.

He's big, way more built than I gave him credit for, and a good head taller than me too. I'm sure he expects me to be intimidated as he glares at me, most people probably are. I don't imagine he gets many people who will stand up to him but he's a bully and I hate bullies, they're the reason I took up kick boxing in the first place. Besides,his muscles look like the sort that come from sitting in a gym and lifting dead weights all day. I bet he's slow and heavy.

"Get out of here before I call the police," I warn him, almost hoping that he doesn't so I can have the pleasure of kicking his ass.

"Go ahead," he dares me, "I don't think they're going to be interested in wasting their time on a guy having a disagreement with his girlfriend."

"I am not your girlfriend!" Katniss snaps back.

"All right," he sneers at her, "having a disagreement with the cheap bint I'm shagging."

"Like that is ever going to happen again, you asshole!"

He takes a step towards her but I'm faster, putting myself between them and shoving him backwards before he can reach her. I catch him off guard, sending him stumbling, but he rights himself quicker than expected and hits out at me. Even so I'm able to dodge him easily and I bring my elbow to connect with the side of his head as his momentum brings him towards me. He staggers to the side, looking dazed.

"Get out of here," I repeat, giving him one more chance to save himself from getting a beating but he doesn't take it. Again Cato strikes out at me, but it's just all too easy. It's like watching an amateur fight amongst some of the kids at the gym. I block his arm and give him an open palm hit to his left temple. There's no way I'm going to risking breaking my knuckles on this moron's thick head. He stumbles back again, loses his footing, and ends up on his arse on the pavement.

"Katniss go call the police, tell them we have a disturbance with a customer that won't leave," I tell her, as I stare down at Cato, willing him to get up so I can hit him again.

"Don't bother I'm going, the bitch isn't worth it," he spits, as he stumbles towards his bike. He grabs his helmet, mounts his ride and speeds off.

"Are you all right?" I ask, turning to Katniss. To my surprise I find she doesn't look upset or even thankful, instead she is glaring angrily at me.

"I didn't need your help. I could have handled Cato myself," she glowers, before storming back into the café, leaving me on the pavement with my chin jerking furiously and swearing to myself.

She's grabbed her bag by the time I get back inside and bustles past me as she leaves.

"I…FUCK…I was only trying to… FUCK FUCKING SLUT….I hate bullies and I didn't want you to get hurt," I manage to tell her through the word vomit.

When she turns around her face has softened marginally. "I know you were…but just…don't do it again, ok? I can look after myself."

"Don't take it personally," Rory says, placing a hand on my shoulder as we watch her leave. "She's like that with everyone, honest mate. Like it would kill her to admit she needs help, you know. And seriously," he adds with a wry smile, "take it from me, don't ever expect a thank you!"

* * *

 _ **Hello? Is there anybody out there reading this?**_

 _ **Let me know if there is!**_


	3. Chapter 3

**October - Part Two**

KPOV

"You want it don't you? Tell me Katniss, I want to hear you say it?"

I watch him, his magnificent body, washboard abs contracting and muscles flexing, stroking himself above me, as I kneel before him.

I look down at my own body to find I'm naked too, although I don't remember undressing.

"Tell me what you want?" he repeats.

I groan wantonly, I know exactly what I want. I can feel the heady evidence of my arousal pooling between my thighs, I'm practically dripping for him.

"Oh fuck Peeta," I moan, "I want you to come on my tits."

Sweat beads on his creamy pale skin, as with a gloriously pained expression he spills onto me. I moan his name loudly as my eyes fly open to find myself alone in bed.

"Fuck" I groan, closing my eyes again.

I'm panting like I've just run a mile and I know I should be seriously disturbed by the fact that I've just had yet another an erotic dream about my boss, but shit I'm so tightly wound, and he was so fucking hot that I cannot not act on it. I slip my hand inside my sleep shorts and run my fingers over my already wet skin.

I try to just concentrate on the sensation only and nothing else, but the image of Peeta's naked body is too potently fresh in my mind.

It doesn't take me long before I come, still thinking about Peeta, but then that's nothing unusual these days.

I groan, rolling over to bury my head in my pillow. Shit, _I cannot sleep with my boss_ , repeat _I cannot sleep with my boss_. Because he's not just my boss, he's my aunt's and my cousin's too. If I screw things up I could be jeopardising their jobs, not just my own. I just have to get though the next few months, stop fantasizing about Peeta and find another outlet for this pent-up sexual frustration.

But by Wednesday I'm in danger of getting a repetitive strain in my fingers from how much I've been relieving my frustration.

I need to get laid.

I'm sure I wouldn't be so fixated on Peeta if I wasn't going through a marathon bout of celibacy. I haven't had sex in about three months now, not since that Irish backpacker in Lima, and honestly I don't think I've gone this long since I was about 17.

I go out on Thursday night with every intention of meeting someone but, despite Jo pointing several guys out and telling me I need to get my eyes tested, I can't see even one remotely attractive man in the bar. I go home, take care of myself and then wake up from the same dream about Peeta that's been haunting me all week.

I spend all day Friday trying to avoid him and by mid-afternoon I'm pretty impressed by how successful I've been, unfortunately it doesn't mean I've managed to stop thinking about him.

"Hi."

I look up from unloading the under-counter dishwasher to stare into strangely familiar looking blue eyes.

"Can you let Peeta know Mark is here to see him," the guy says, looking me up and down with a smirk that implies he's mentally undressing me. He doesn't need to say who he is, they are so alike, he has to be Peeta's brother.

Peeta is in the kitchen making the most of the afternoon lull to get started on tomorrow's soups.

"Peeta I think your brother's here. Mark?"

I'm guessing the only thing close about Peeta and his brother is their resemblance, because Peeta looks anything but happy at the news. In fact he blinks a few times and he gives an involuntary twitch of his head before expelling, "Shit-sticks!"

"Shall I tell him you're too busy?" I offer, but he shakes his head.

Mark is sat at one of the empty tables in the window by the time I return from the kitchen. Peeta hesitates, eyeing him and the table. If Peeta sits down to eat lunch during the quiet period in the afternoon, he always sits at the back of the café in one of the quiet corners and reads. He never choses to sit in the window.

"Shit-sticks!" he utters again, and I can tell, by the contortion of his face and his rigid shoulders it's taken everything he has to keep it that quiet.

Peeta walks over to the table and at the same time his brother looks up and speaks to me. "Get me a beer will you sweetheart," and then turning to Peeta he asks, "You do sell beer in this _place_ don't you?" managing to make the question sound like an insult.

I ignore him and smile at Peeta. "Would you like anything Peeta?"

He shakes his head.

As I head back to the bar I hear Mark comment, loud enough so that I know he wants me to hear, "I can think a few things I'd like her to do for me. Man, look at that ass." I grit my teeth. What is it with some men that they think making lewd comments and leering at a girl is an acceptable form of foreplay?

"Shut up Mark." I don't look back but I can hear the anger in Peeta's voice.

"What? Are you and her?"

"F-f-fish!" Peeta stammers as he tries to hold the word back. I look over, as I take the top off the bottle of beer. I can see Peeta's facial tic is getting worse, his chin jerking upwards as his eyes blink in a painful looking fashion. His balled fists sit on the table, the muscles in his exposed forearms straining with tension.

"No, I didn't think so. Girls like that aren't interested in f-f-f-freaks like you are they?" Mark shakes his head solemnly and pulls a mockingly commiserate expression, but there's absolutely nothing compassionate about his comment at all.

"F-FUCKING SLUT!" Peeta blurts loudly, drawing the attention of everyone in the café. I haven't seen Peeta this bad before. Funny how when he confronted Cato the other day his tic and verbal outbursts almost disappeared but here, just sat with his brother, he's losing the battle to contain his behaviour and his tics are becoming increasingly more pronounced. "W..What do you want Mark? Why…why are you here?"

"You know exactly why I'm here."

"FISH…I already told them I'm not going."

I put Mark's opened bottle of beer down heavily on the table in front of him, so that its contents fizz up and some spills out over the top. The cocky bastard merely eyes my legs and smiles suggestively at me, before turning his attention back to Peeta.

I start to tidy up some of the nearby tables so that I can continue to eaves drop on their conversation.

"It's the bi-centennial Peeta, as a Mellark you don't get a choice whether you go or not," Mark tells Peeta but he's not looking at him. Mark appears to be too busy sizing up my tits to look at his brother.

"F -FUCKING SLUT! You can't tell me they really want me there and all the…the.. questions that go along with it."

"There will be more questions about why you aren't there. Besides dad wants you there. When was the last time you were home? Last Christmas? He wants to see you," Mark replies, before taking a long swig from his bottle.

Peeta unclenches and clenches his fists again and tries to roll his neck, but the jerk of his chin is too severe to let him relax.

"Look its only one night. Just put on a suit, make sure you take the pills and try to behave like a normal person for once. Surely it's not that difficult, even for you?" Mark says with cold impatience. "Oh, and I told her it was pointless asking, but Mother insisted I tell you that she'll need prior warning if you're planning on bringing a plus one. At the moment she's presumed you won't be and you're down on the seating plan as coming alone."

"T-t-tell I'll be bringing someone."

"Oh yeah? Who?" Mark's voice is dripping with contemptuous disbelief. "You haven't got a girlfriend."

"I've just started seeing someone," Peeta says, as his chin juts upward involuntarily and his eyes blink.

"Right," Mark responds sarcastically, before knocking back the rest of his bottle and standing. "Well, just make sure you get your moneys worth from whoever you have to hire for the night," he smirks, amused by his own joke. "I'll see you next Saturday." Then he turns and gives me, what I'm sure with most girls, is his successful panty-dropping smile. Mark is after all unquestionably handsome, it's a shame he's such a dick as well.

I glare back at him, tempted to throw his empty bottle at the back of his head as he leaves.

Peeta stands and takes a look about the café, there's no chance that the few customers here could have possibly missed the show.

"Are you okay?" I ask, as Peeta heads back to the kitchen. He nods but the movement takes on an exaggerated quality as it is hijacked by one of his tics. "I don't mean to be rude but your brother is…" I grin widely, knowing I've got the perfect descriptive for Mark, "…a complete shit-stick."

Peeta mouth twitches and he gives a slight, mirthless snort through his nose, but he still looks sad.

I think about the interaction for the rest of the day and then all weekend. Rather worryingly I also spend a lot of time wondering what Peeta's girlfriend looks like. She has to be stunning right? And really nice not to care about the Tourette's. By the time I come back to work on Monday I've built her up to be a saintly supermodel and I know I never want to meet her. Don't get me wrong, I love that she exists, because I really want Peeta to rub it in his brother's face, but I irrationally hate her all the same.

Its 7 o'clock Thursday night and the closed signs have been flipped for a while, the dishwasher is running, I've wiped the tables down and I've just finished sweeping the floor, when I find myself eavesdropping on Delly and Peeta.

"Oh Peeta." Delly sounds close to tears. "I'll go with you."

"Delly," he sighs, "what good would that do? You're married and heavily pregnant remember? My family knows we're not together."

"I'll tell them I left Thom for you," she offers.

"Delly, I love you, you're my best friend but I'm not going to spend the night pretending we're together."

"Fuck I hate your family," she curses. I can't help but smile. Delly never swears and when she does it still sounds like she's talking about kittens and sunshine. "So what are you going to do? Not go?"

Peeta lets out a deep ragged sigh, that I can picture is accompanied by his nodding tic. "I'll just go on my own."

"You're not going to take those pills though are you? Please don't let them make you."

"I don't know. I don't see I'll have much choice."

"Oh Peeta, please don't go. Sod your family, you don't need them. They're rotten to you, they always have been. I bet Mark was a complete swine when he came here, wasn't he?"

Peeta doesn't answer. "I knew it," Delly says angrily. "God I hate that conceited ass."

"Perhaps I should send you in my place instead and you can tell him," Peeta suggests. "Seriously Delly don't ….don't worry about me, its…FISH…it's just one night." Despite his attempt at joviality I can hear the involuntary twitches and movements becoming more pronounced. "All the menu for Saturday night is already prepared, Rory should be able to handle everything he's got…Mitchell coming in to help him…FISH …he should be fine."

"Okay, but I still wish you weren't going."

Delly starts saying her good bye so I hurry back behind the bar and quickly make myself look busy, straightening the bottles on the shelf, before the door opens.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Delly calls out on her way to the front door and I smile and wave goodbye.

Peeta is leaning with his forehead against the wall in the corridor that leads to the kitchen. His eyes are screwed shut and he's flexing and unflexing his fingers, his hands hanging by his side, as he breathes out between pursed lips like a child attempting to whistle.

"Peeta?"

He jumps, startled by my unnoticed approach. He's got dark shadows under his eyes like he needs a good night's sleep.

"I'm not working Saturday night." Lyme, the woman who works weekends, is covering my usually evening hours and I'm supposed to be going out with Jo.

"Do… do you…FUCK….do you want some extra shifts?" he asks.

"No. I'm not working Saturday night Peeta," I spell out to him again, but he simply stares at me blankly. "I don't have any plans that can't be changed." He frowns and shakes his head, clearly still with no idea where I'm headed with this. "What I'm trying to say is, that I'm free Saturday night if you want to ask me something."

His chin juts forward and he blinks, then he puts his fingers to his lips as he does sometimes to keep them closed I think. He swallows thickly "Are you….do you mean you'd come to the function with me?"

Function? I thought it was just dinner with his family, but sure I can do a function. "If you want me to?"

He nods and then his face falls. "My brother…FISH…he knows we're not seeing each other."

"How does he know that? You never actually said we weren't, he just jumped to that conclusion," I correct. "So what kind of function is this, what do I need to wear?"

"Black tie. I think it's a long evening gown affair for the women." His chin juts again and his face twitches. "Fucking slut! I'm sorry," he says mortified, "you know I don't think…"

"I know," I say cutting off his explanation, he doesn't need to apologise.

"I don't think I can… FUCK…I can do this," he says.

I place a hand on his arm and rub it soothingly. He closes his eyes and exhales. Perhaps I'm imagining it but I can almost feel some of his tension being released.

"Yes _we_ can," I reassure him with complete honesty. "Now, what time are you going to pick me up?"

* * *

 _ **So what did you think of Peeta's delightful brother?**_

 _ **And any thoughts on Katniss' recurring dream? Should she just ignore her own advice and sleep with her boss?**_

 _ **I'd really love to hear what you thought of the chapter. It's hard to know whether there is anyone out there or whether I'm the only one reading it. So I would really really really appreciate some kind of feedback no matter how short. I'm much much more likely to update quickly if I know someone wants to read it.**_

 _ **Thank you for reading.**_

 _ **L**_


	4. Chapter 4

_**A little smut for the weekend anyone?...**_

 **October – Part 3**

PPOV

I hate going to these kind of things. I wish I could just turn up smile at a few people, so they know I was there, and leave straightaway again.

But of course things can't be that easy. Nothing ever is.

My parents live about an hour away, in one of the outer districts of the capitol. That's where the bakery is based. Tonight is being held in a nearby hotel and all the guests will be staying the night. That's me, Katniss, my parents, my brother and his _delightful_ wife - thankfully without their even more delightful kids - and about 300 other 'close' acquaintances.

God, what a right royal disaster this evening is going to be! I have fat chance of convincing Mark or my parents that Katniss is my girlfriend. No matter what Katniss says, Mark knows it's not true after the other day in the café.

And I know it's totally wrong of me to worry about this, because let's face it if anyone is going to embarrass themselves this evening it's going to be me, but I really really hope Katniss has got something suitable to wear. I've never seen her in anything but leggings, biker boots and miniature skirts before. And whilst she looks incredible in them, they're not exactly going to be appropriate for tonight.

Unbelievably my tux still fitted when I tried it on, well as long as I don't button the jacket up. I haven't had a need to wear it since the celebration of dad's MBE award five years ago. That was the last time I had to endure one of these over the top shindigs.

The train is late, which seems like an omen. I call my parents to let them know we won't be at the station at the time I originally told them. Even over the phone my mother has the power to reduce me to a twitching, spitting, abuse-spewing mess. I get a sinking feeling that as awful as the phone conversation is, the rest of the evening can only go downhill from here.

I'm already way past bursting point when the train arrives. I shout out "Fucking Cunt," as we board and then appear to call Katniss a 'slut' and tell her I want to 'come on her tits', whilst struggling to get our bags into the overhead luggage rack.

I can feel ever single pair of eyes in the carriage on me as I take my seat, and I can both hear and imagine their comments. "What the hell is wrong with him," "freak," "come on, let's move to another carriage," as well as the obligatory sniggers.

I stare out the window at the platform, glad when I feel the train start to move. Not that it makes any difference. I'm still stuck in here with the stares and the whispers.

"What are you looking at?" Katniss snaps. I turn to find her glowering at the woman in the seat across the row from her. "Haven't you ever seen anyone with Tourette's before?"

The woman hastily and guiltily looks away. I almost feel sorry for her, because the thing is, the answer is probably no. It's only natural for her to be curious about what's wrong with me, to presume I'm some raving nutter, but then that doesn't make her prolonged staring any more excusable. Acceptance of mental illness of any kind still has a long way to go and if you ask my mother that's what I am - mentally ill - that's what she tells people. It makes my lack of verbal and physical control easier to explain away to her friends. I've always had the feeling she wished there was some institution she could have hidden me away in when I was younger.

I press my fingers to my lips, struggling to contain the words bubbling up inside. My eyes blink and and my head jerks upwards. If there's anyone looking from outside I probably look like I'm having a seizure of some kind.

"Hey, are you all right?" I feel a gentle touch run up and down my arm, wrist to shoulder. I take a deep breath and nod, inexplicably already feeling calmer.

Katniss doesn't stop stroking my arm until the tics and jerky nodding is all but gone. She smiles at me, and perhaps I just prefer to believe it, but it doesn't look like pity.

"The phone call to your parents didn't exactly go well then?" she asks. I shake my head in response. "You don't get on," she surmises correctly. "That's why you don't go home very often?"

"It's easier on all of us that way," I explain.

"Have you always had it, Tourette's I mean?"

"No. It's genetic, hereditary even, although I'm not sure who else in the family has had it. So I was born with the chance of developing it. But the symptoms didn't start until I was about 13 or 14." I'm surprised I'm telling her this, I usually hate talking about it, but its strange, talking to her - focusing on this instead of the other people in the carriage - feels almost relaxing.

"And so what? You just woke up with it one day?" She asks, with surprised interest.

"No, it's not like that. Or at least it wasn't for me. It started with the tics, just slight involuntary movements of my head. I just thought I was tired or I'd screwed up my neck, pulled a muscle playing rugby or something. But then the blinking started. And it was like I could feel this pressure inside me, building up. I heard someone once describe it like being a balloon, swelling and growing till you hit the pressure point and you burst. That's when the verbal outbursts started. Of course it had to be swearing," I add wryly.

"Except Fish!" she grins, teasing but not malicious.

"Yeah, except Fish," I return her smile. "Sometimes there are other random things, verbal tics can come and go, like if something is really on my mind and bothering me then I might end up saying that a lot. But mainly it's the swearing. I wish it wasn't. It's not directed at anyone personally, They're just words. It's like sneezing, sometimes you know it's going to happen, sometimes it takes me by surprise. Either way it's very hard to keep it in and just trying can be really exhausting, physically and mentally. But I feel like I have to because there's always someone that doesn't understand and gets offended or wants to make it physical."

"You've been beaten up over it!" she gasps.

"More when I was younger. It's why I started taekwondo and then got into kickboxing, I didn't want to be such an easy target. I still tend to avoid situations that I know have the potentially to be volatile, where there will be a lot of drunks or blokes throwing their testosterone around. Like football matches or the pub at last orders."

She nods looking lost in thought, staring at my arm it seems.

"Is there a cure?" she asks, coming out of her daydream. "Can you take anything for it?"

"I saw a lot of expensive doctors when I was younger. I think my mother was hoping there'd be an overnight cure. I tried some different drugs, things that suppressed the urges but they made me feel like a zombie so I stopped taking them."

"So you'll have it forever then?"

I swallow and the consistent gentle bobbing of my chin, that has continued whilst I've been talking to her, suddenly takes a more pronounced jerk upwards. I really wish I could give her a different answer. "I guess so, there's some research to suggest that the symptoms become less pronounced as you get older. Some people even grow out of it all together, but not everyone," I shrug, aiming for nonchalance. I stopped believing that I would grow out of it a long time ago. I've had Tourette's for ten years now and I'm resigned to having it for a lot longer but it's still hard to give up completely, not to harbour some hope, no matter how unrealistic that it won't last forever.

Katniss falls silent, and I let my gaze wander to the fields and trees flashing past the window, trying to ignore the heavy silence but in no mood to fill it myself. I know I should be thankful that my symptoms, compared to a lot of other people's, are comparatively mild but sometimes its hard not to let it get to me. Daily life, not just trying to suppress the outbursts, but simply surviving with the Tourette's can be so tiring.

"So what is this thing we're going to tonight? Is it your parents' wedding anniversary of something?" she asks eventually, her tone lighter like she's drawn a line under the last conversation and moved on. I'm grateful for the change in subject.

"It's the bi-centennial celebration of the founding of the family company."

"Really? Wow that's impressive. What do they do?"

"Oh, right I suppose I didn't explain. My…my family they own…M-Mellark bakery." The tic that had completely abated resurfaces, making me blink and nod, until her hand starts smoothing up and down my forearm. Again, inexplicably, it soothes me.

"Mellark bakery?" I can see her mulling it over and then the light bulb moment when it clicks. "Mellark as in _Mmmmmm Mellark bread?_ _"_ she asks, rubbing a circle on her stomach as quotes the company ad line that has been used in one various form or another for the last 60 years.

"That's the one."

" _Mmmm_ bread! Your family owns _Mmmm_ bread?" Her face lights up, as she stares at me with an excited disbelief.

"Uh, yeah I guess so." Although I can't imagine Mark introducing himself as the Chief Financial Officer of Mmmm Bread. The idea of it printed on his business cards makes me smile though.

"It's just that's what we used to call it when we were kids. You know because of the _Mmmmm_. She automatically rubs her stomach again and gets a tiny bit of a blush on her cheeks as she does.

"So your family?" she says, her forehead furrowing with whatever the question is she's considering. "They must be totally loaded?"

"You could say that," I blink uncomfortably.

"So are _you_ rich?" she asks, completely shocked.

"No. I mean I'm not living on the breadline or anything." She rolls her eyes at my unintended pun. "But I don't work for the company. I don't hold a position or shares, not any more. My brother, Mark, he's in line to inherit all of that."

"And you're okay with that?"

"More than okay. He's welcome to it," I tell her honestly.

She's quiet for a while but I can see from her continued frown she's still thinking about it, and it's not long before she asks, "Not any more? You said not anymore like at some point you did hold a position and shares in the company."

Damn, did I say that? I really didn't mean to. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, hold it then let it go again. Hell if that wasn't the time when it felt like all this started in the first place. Logically I know The Tourette's was inevitable, but sometimes it feels like it was that point in my life that was to blame.

Her small hand is running a soothing course up and down my arm again. When I open my eyes I'm met by her apologetic face.

"Sorry, I'm being rude. Just tell me to butt out, if I'm being too nosey."

"It's okay, you're not," I dismiss, even though she is and I wouldn't normally answer this question. In fact not many people, apart from those from my past like Delly, know about my links to Mellark bakery at all.

"I didn't want to go into the business, well no that's not true. I did but not the way _they_ wanted me to."

"Your parents?"

"My parents, my grandparents, everyone. It was just automatically expected that I would be involved in the running of the business, you know the boring, managerial, number crunching stuff. And it just wasn't me. Its perfect for Mark, he's always has been this hyper-intelligent, driven, high achiever and I'm not. And that's fine. He was the academic one and I was the sporty one. Rugby, wrestling, running, any sport really. I was on pretty much all the school teams. But my family had other ideas, they wanted to set me on this path toward a career that just wasn't me. I didn't want to study economics or business management. I wanted to actually do the baking. God you should have seen my mother's face when I told her that! _"_ _What in the actually factory, with the factory workers!_ _"_ Like I'd just suggested I go and work in an ebola camp or something?

"There were a lot arguments for, I don't know, about three years, and eventually I just dropped out of school and I signed up on a catering course. I knew they'd be angry, I guess I just underestimated how much. I thought it would all blow over after a few months, but no. It was their way or not at all. If I turned my back on the family business I was turning my back on the family. I was dishonouring the entire Mellark ancestry and insulting everything my forefathers had worked so tirelessly to create. Really, I don't know what the problem was? It wasn't like I was going to run the company, they already had Mark to do that.

"But they said if I wanted to leave I'd have to sell my shares in the company and give up any rights to future income from the bakery. I don't think they thought I'd go through with it. That just the threat would be enough to change my mind, but it didn't. I used some of the money to buy somewhere decent to live, put myself through study, and saved the rest. Until Delly came up with the idea to open the café."

Katniss is staring at me like I just grew another head, her mouth is slightly open. I flex my fingers, dying to reach out and close it.

"Your family basically disowned you."

"Not entirely, I'm expected to go home at Christmas."

"They disowned you," she continues, ignoring my last comment, "and cut you off."

"It's not like they threw me out on the street without a penny."

"Just because you wanted to go on a catering course?"

I shrug.

"It's not just your brother," she says. "I think the whole lot of them are shit-sticks!"

"And you haven't even met them yet!"

She stares at me still irate and then dissolves into giggles. I didn't think Katniss Everdeen would be the kind of girl to giggle but she is. And it's utterly adorable.

.~.

KPOV

I've never been to a hotel like this before. I've seen places like it on TV but it's not exactly the sort of place I usually stay. My budget is much more suited to backpackers hostels. In Thailand I slept rough on the beach for three nights until I heard that some French girl had been attacked. I have definitely never, ever stayed anywhere like this before. The hotel is basically an enormous stately home, no scratch that, it's more like a grand old palace.

Perhaps I should have been expecting it when, instead of catching a taxi from the station, I found a chauffeur driven car had been sent to pick us up but this place is still beyond any expectation.

"Please let me show to your room Mr Mellark." A porter rushes to take our bags as we step out of the car, the door of which is being held open for us by our driver.

If I thought the outside of the hotel was impressive its nothing compared to the inside. It's like stepping back into old world grandeur: marble floors polished to the point of reflection, gold gilt gleaming from the stairs and light fittings, and deep, rich, plush soft furnishings. It's like being on the Orient Express or the Titanic, mixed with what I imagine a gentleman's club at the turn of the last century would have looked like.

But the outstanding thing about it is, that apart from us and the staff, there's not a soul here.

"Where are all the other guest?" I hiss at Peeta out of the corner of my mouth, feeling conspicuously out of place amongst all the excessive opulence.

"There aren't any," he whispers back in the same manner. "My parents have hired the entire place, the other guests aren't due to arrive for a few hours. But I was 'summoned' early," he grimaces and then his chin jerks up. After he got it under control on the train, his facial spasms and tics almost completely disappeared but I can feel him tensing up beside me as we ride up in dark wood paneled elevator.

The bell-boy leads us to our room and points out some of the amenities, but I'm not paying attention I'm far too busy looking to listen. We don't have a room, we have suite. A frickin' suite! The living area is almost larger than the ground floor of Aunt Haze's place. There's a bathroom - with a spa bath, a separate shower and double basins – that is definitely twice the size of my bedroom at Jo's house.

I dash to the bedroom to check it out, not caring if the bell-boy is staring at me. Peeta appears at the bedroom door a moment later, apparently having got rid of him.

"Shit Peeta! Look at this place!" I laugh and he laughs with - and probably at - me and my childish amazement. "Just look at this bed! It's huge!" I say, throwing myself down in the centre of it and destroying the elaborate arrangement of about a thousand throw cushions that have pointlessly been piled there. Even lying spread-eagled on my back, stretching out my fingers and toes, I'm miles away from reaching the edge of the bed.

"Do you think we could order breakfast in bed?" I ask, eyeing up the massive flat screen that's set into the wall opposite the foot of the bed

"Um, yeah…if you…you want to," Peeta agrees, before his chin juts awkwardly. "W-we have about an hour before people will be starting to arrive and…" he presses his fingers to his lips and blinks hard, trying to contain his outburst. "… another hour after that before the dinner starts. I suggest we …. FUCK… we get washed up and ready, and then I have to go and see my family before the guests… FUCK FUCKING SLUT…turn up."

I kneel on the bed in front of him and stroke his arm. "I'm…I'm sorry," he stammers.

I shake my head and offer him a smile, "You don't have to apologise Peeta, I know you can't help it." He nods, but looks sad rather than consoled.

I open every complementary bottle in the bathroom. Everything smells gorgeous and it's definitely all coming home with me tomorrow. I'm tempted to use the small swimming pool sized bath but opt for a shower instead. It takes me ages to work out how to use the bloody thing but eventually I've got three different showerheads spraying and massaging my body. It feels heavenly and I take my time washing my hair.

Peeta swaps places with me and uses the bathroom when I finish. I'm dressed and I've dried my hair, when the bathroom door opens and Peeta re-emerges fully dressed.

Oh fuck! I am in serious trouble!

 _He_ _'_ _s my boss, he_ _'_ _s my boss, remember I can_ _'_ _t fancy him, he_ _'_ _s my boss_ , I silently remind myself. So why the hell does he have to look so damn good in a tux?

Screw it! Peeta is not my boss, not really, he's Hazelle's and Rory's, not mine. I'm only working for him for a short while. Would it really be so awful if I slept with him, just once, whilst we're here at the hotel? Its not like we're at work right now. I've been ogling him dressed in white t-shirts and aprons for weeks, exercising superhuman restraint not to come on to him, but dressed in that suit - looking insanely hot - I think he would test the abstinence of a nun. And I am not a nun.

I realise he's just sort of staring at me, frozen to the spot, and I'm struck by a sinking, self-conscious doubt about the way that _I_ am dressed.

"Is this okay? I wasn't sure what to wear but Jo lent me the dress, and she goes to these sort of things all the time with her firm. She said it would fine." Jo convinced me the midnight blue dress suited me even though I wasn't sure about it. It's longer than I'm comfortable with and I'm scared I'm going to trip over it at some point. But when she said it made my tits look great, I had to agree. Only now, the way Peeta is looking at me, I wish I'd chosen something else.

"Jo?" is all he says. Not " _don_ _'_ _t worry you look great"_ \- just Jo?

"Yeah, Jo - Joanna, I'm staying at her house at the moment. She's a lawyer at some big firm, and she has to attend these kind of flash evening events all the time." Jo is aiming to be the firm's youngest partner ever and she's committed to kissing a lot of ass, for a limited period, to get her exactly where she wants to be.

"Johanna," he repeats.

"So is it okay? I brought a back up dress, it's a bit more cocktail than evening soiree but I wasn't sure if…"

"No, it's great. You look great." His eyes scan over me and then come to a stop on my chest. I make a mental note to thank Jo.

Peeta's cheeks redden as he hastily looks down at his watch. "Do you want a drink before we go? I think I need a drink," he says quickly, his chin repetitively jerking upwards.

Peeta opens a few cupboards, before he uncovers the minibar in the lounge area. "Uh…we've got…vodka…gin…rum…" He calls out, as he scans the rows of little bottles.

"I'll have a rum and coke."

I grab a couple of glasses - real glasses, made of real glass, not those disposable plastic ones that usually get left in bathrooms of the kind of hotels I stay in - and Peeta pours me a rum then adds one of those miniature cans of coke. He pours the contents of a mini whisky bottle into his own glass, stares at it for a moment and then pours in another.

'W-w-well here's to what…FUCK…is almost certain to be one of the …FUCK…worst nights of my life," he says raising his glass.

"Seriously? Come on, we're all dressed up and I have to say I think we both look shit hot," I respond, drawing a breathy snort of amusement from Peeta. "We are staying in possibly the fanciest place I am ever going to set foot in, we are about to be served what I'm certain will be an incredible meal and you know what the best thing is?" I leave a dramatic pause, raising my eyebrows at him daring him to guess but he doesn't take the bait. "It's all free! So I suggest we make the most of the free bar and enjoy ourselves, all at the expense of your parents." I get a real smile from him then.

"Cheers," he clinks his glass against my extended one. "To you," he toasts. "I both thank you for coming to this with me, and apologise that you had to come to this with me."

I shake my head. "Thank you for bringing me. And seriously, it's not going to be that bad.'

I've changed my mind by the time we head down to meet his parents due to the phone call Peeta gets to summon us. I don't hear what the person on the other end says, but Peeta's blurts out "Fish," about six times in a row when he hangs up and I doubt he can see straight he's blinking so hard.

"You don't have to come with me. You can stay up here until the guests arrive," he tells me, but I refuse his offer. I'm sure his parents are expecting to be introduced to Peeta's date and honestly he looks like he could do with the moral support.

We both knock back another round of dutch courage from the mini bar - another double whisky for him and a shot of vodka for me - before we head out.

His family is waiting for us in the main reception room. It is immediately clear where Peeta and Mark get their good looks from. Mr Mellark is older, thicker set and a lot less athletic but still just as handsome as his sons and Peeta's mother is utterly stunning. She must have been an absolute head-turner in her youth. She is still slender, polished and her hair just as golden as Peeta's, although I reckon there's a strong probability that at her age her colour owes more to a bottle than to nature. Yet despite her obvious beauty there's something unattractively cold about her.

Mark is stood with another blonde that I presume is his wife. She looks us up and down, gives us a tight-lipped smile, and manages to look down her nose at us, all at the same time. She's like a younger version of her mother-in-law. It appears they're cloning the Mellark wives like Stepfords.

"Peeta," his mother says, and offers her cheek for the kiss he dutifully gives her. "And you brought a date!" She sounds surprised, but not in a pleasant way.

"That's not a date. He pays her, he'll have hired her for the weekend," Mark assumes.

"Oh my god," his mother gasps, "you brought a prostitute with you?"

I'm pretty sure all the blood has drained out of my face. I know my mouth is certainly hanging open. I've never been so insulted. By the time the blood returns to set my cheeks angrily on fire, Peeta has already responded.

"Kat…Katniss works with me," he states.

"Oh no, this isn't one of those work-place harassment cases you read about in the paper is it?" she asks, with a horrified expression.

I can see why Delly hates the Mellarks so much, Peeta's mother is unbelievable. We've been in the room for less than a minute and she's already managed to insult me beyond belief and Peeta is rapidly being reduced to a mass of tics and spasms before my eyes.

"Peeta and I have been dating for a couple of weeks," I assert indignantly. I don't know if I succeed in convincing his parents, but Mark scoffs loudly, "Sure you have."

Peeta's chin juts upwards as he loudly swears, "FUCK! FUCKING SHIT-STICKS!" I know its involuntary but I don't think I could have put it better myself.

His mother's face contorts in pure distaste, like she's been sucking a lemon. "Peeta! Haven't you taken your pills?"

"Not yet….FISH!"

"Amos talk to him," she says clutching at her husband's arm in distress. "He can't possibly go in there tonight like that. He has to take his pills. Talk to him Amos, make him see reason, they can't see him like that!" She talks as if Peeta isn't still in the room.

"Peeta," Mr Mellark says in an oh-so-reasonable voice, stepping forward to place a hand on his son's shoulder. "You know tonight is likely to be too much for you otherwise, take the pills son, you know you'll regret it otherwise."

Peeta closes his eyes and nods. "I'll …I'll …F-F-fish…I'll go do it now.'

His head twitches and he blinks furiously all the way up in the elevator. He doesn't even try to hold his lips together letting the curses flow freely.

I follow him into the bathroom where he gets a bottle of pills from his wash bag.

"What are they?"

"Prescription meds, they suppress the symptoms," he explains.

"But you don't want to take them, do you?"

He sighs heavily and stares at the bottle. "They don't just dull the symptoms they…f-fuck…pretty …fuck…much dull me completely too."

I remember what he said on the train about them turning him into a zombie. "Then don't take them."

"I don't see I have a choice," he says, sounding completely defeated.

"It seems to get worse when you're nervous or stressed right?" He nods. "But this helps doesn't it?" I run my hand up his forearm. "It helps to calm you?" He nods again in confirmation.

"I'm going to be right beside you all night. If it gets too much to handle then we'll leave. But please, don't turn yourself into some zombie just because they want you too." I take the bottle from his hand and toss it into the furthest corner of the bathroom and then taking his hand I say, "Come on let's go get drunk."

We take a long route down to the function, exploring the hotel first. We find a library on the first floor full of plump velvet upholstered seats, a terrace on the ground floor that leads down to sculptured gardens at the back of the hotel and a covered swimming pool with a glass roof exposing the night sky so guests can swim under the stars.

By the time we make it down to the reception rooms, they are brimming with the buzz of voices of people shoulder to shoulder.

I look to Peeta just as his chin throws upward and I slip my hand into his. I swear he's going to make it through tonight without the help of those drugs that so horrified Delly if it kills me. I run my free hand up and down his arm. He looks at my hand first and then me and I give him what I hope is a reassuring, _'_ _fuck what everyone else thinks_ _'_ smile.

A few people recognise Peeta, I guess it's not hard considering the strong family resemblance. He's the spitting image of Mark, only without the pompous air of superiority.

"Amuse-bouche," a snooty waiter offers, holding out a silver platter. The second I taste it I'm reminded what a long time ago lunch was, but the tiny morsel does nothing to elevate my sudden hunger.

"Amuse-bouche? Whatever happened to canapés?" I ask, searching the room for something more substantial to eat.

"Oh darling, no one does canapés anymore, they are so pedestrian," Peeta says, affecting a tone frighteningly similar to his mother.

"Whatever, I wish these were bigger," I grumble.

Peeta laughs and drags me in search of another server with a tray. By the time we've cornered some poor waiter and I've eaten practically the whole platter, people are starting to be ushered into the dinning room. We give our names and are directed to our seats. I don't think we could have been seated further from the top table, we're practically in the kitchen, but if it bothers Peeta he doesn't say. We are seated with two old relatives who seem to think that Peeta is called George and two twin second-cousins-twice-removed, or something along those lines, and their wives.

"Seriously Castor and Pollux, like as in the stars?" I whisper after we've been introduced, "Their parents named them after the Gemini twins? I don't know whether to think that's really cool or really pretentious?"

"Knowing their parents I'd go for the latter," Peeta smiles.

It doesn't take long to realise that the old ladies are too deaf to strike up a conversation with and the twins don't want to talk, not even to their wives. We haven't exactly found ourselves on the party table, but on the plus side it does mean Peeta and I don't have to suffer through any awkward conversations about our supposed _relationship_.

The first course is delicious but almost as tiny as the amuse-bouche and I practically hoover it down.

"Did you even stop to chew? You might want to pace yourself, there are another eight courses to go you know," Peeta teases, with a cheeky grin.

I narrow my eyes at him. "I think I preferred it when you were too nervous to talk to me," I retort, but I can't prevent the smirk that accompanies my response.

Peeta just laughs, "It must be the dress, you're a little less scary without the boots."

"Hey, I'll have you know I could inflict some serious damage with these heels if I wanted to," I warn, turning to the side to lift my hem to my knee, exposing the shoes I borrowed from Jo.

Peeta closes his eyes and presses his fingers to his lips to stop whatever outburst is brewing inside him. There's a thrill from knowing that there's a strong probability that it's the sight of my legs in these heels that are the reason for his reaction. But I know he doesn't want to cause a scene, so I quickly lower my dress again, run my hand soothingly up his arm and change the subject.

I get him to analyse the next course from a professional point of view, and then encourage him to spill any juicy gossip he has about the guests surrounding us.

His parents, brother and sister-in-law are seated at the main table at the front of the room. Peeta tells me that the familiar looking man sat next to his mother is the current Minister of Finance, Seneca Crane, and next to him is his wife. Then there is Claudius Templesmith the CEO of Templesmith's, the largest chain of supermarkets in the country, and sat beside him is his new, very young, wife.

Peeta quickly moves on to the other tables, filling me in on feuds, business rivals and warring relatives that have to be kept on opposite sides of the room, divorces, well known affairs and even a few suspected children who are the result of those affairs.

"Wow, you lot are like a soap opera," I laugh, shaking my head.

We commandeer the bottle of white wine on the table, no one else seems to be drinking, and by the time the cheese course is served I'm not exactly drunk, due to how much food I've managed to polish off, but feeling very happy.

"Surely no one would notice if we snuck off now?" I venture.

But Peeta shakes his head, "We have to stay for the speeches."

As if on cue, a spotlight is trained on the top table and the Finance Minister gets to his feet. He gives a very long-winded, boring speech that whilst being about the Mellark business, also manages to glorify himself at the same time.

And then its Peeta's father's turn. He's a much more enigmatic talker, starting off with a few anecdotes that raise a collective chuckle from his audience. He talks about the history of the company and how much they owe their success to the hard work of the previous generations. It's when he starts talking about the good work that he knows will continue in the future with the next generation, to ensure the continued success of the Mellark name, that I feel the movement next to me and I know that Peeta's tic has resurfaced for the first time in over an hour.

"Stand up," Amos Mellark addresses to Mark, and his son gets to his feet. "And Peeta is also with us this evening." Mr Mellark continues and points out in our direction. A second light falls on Peeta so immediately that they must have been planning this. I smooth my hand over Peeta's arm but he's rigid, so I lean forward and press a kiss to his neck. I don't care whether everyone can see - illuminated as we are - because it seems to be just the distraction that he needs. He's still gazing at me in surprise after the beam fades. His father is still talking but I'm not listening, I'm far too distracted by the beautiful blue eyes searching mine.

"Do you want to get out of here?" he asks.

"God yes!"

Again the hotel is deserted, everyone else still in the main dining hall. I kick off my shoes and we practically run to the lift, giggling with a naughty elated feeling of playing truant. Once inside though we both fall silent, watching each other as we lean on opposite sides of the elevator.

The ding as we reach our floor breaks the serious moment and somehow my hand ends up in his as we hurry down the corridor.

He kisses me the second we're in the room and I sigh melting into him. I've been waiting and wanting this to happen since the first day I saw him, and it's a relief to finally allow myself.

With the help of my impatient hands, he shrugs of his jacket. Whilst he's ridding himself of his tie I start work on the buttons of his shirt.

Damn if his body isn't everything I fantasized it would be!

"Oh my god Peeta, what are you doing in that kitchen to get these?" Its supposed to be teasing but I just sound breathy and desperate.

"Kickboxing and training everyday after work," he responds in a distracted manner as his hands run down the back of my dress once and then again. "How do I get you out of this thing?" he asks with a frown.

I lift one arm to reveal a side zip and he obliges by unfastening it and then lifting it up and over my head, leaving me standing in my matching deep blue underwear and heels.

"Fuck," he utters and I'm pretty certain that this time it's not involuntary but completely intentional.

There's only the slightest question in his eyes as his arms slip about me to unfasten my bra. He swallows as he pulls back to look at me, as I let my bra fall away and then he kisses me again. His mouth slanting over mine as my lips part for him, eager to accept the strokes of his tongue. His palms cage me and knead me with the delicate roughness of slightly calloused fingers. I moan into our kiss, feeling just as much of a slut as his outbursts have often called me.

I can't stop touching the delicious abs I've fantasized about on so many nights. I duck my head and kiss them, running my tongue over the definitions and I feel his muscles tense and tighten beneath my touch.

I make quick work of his belt and zipper, his trousers slipping down to his ankles on their own while I take his boxer briefs with me as I fully drop to my knees.

Now it's my turn to swear. "Fuck Peeta!" My dreams haven't been doing him justice.

I hear him suck in his breath when, almost reverently, I run my fingers and then my tongue along his significant length. The moan he lets out when I take him in my mouth is near animalistic, and seems to resonate between my thighs. His grip in my hair tightens to borderline painful, but there is no way I'm going to stop now, not when I've been dreaming about this for weeks.

"Katniss, I'm close," he warns.

I pull back completely looking up at him. "Stroke yourself," I tell him, "I want to watch you."

He looks a little taken aback but complies, taking himself in his hand. "I want you to do it Peeta. Just like you said."

His eyes, which had been half veiled behind heavy lids, are now wide open as he stares at me in disbelief, his hand still moving. "you want me to…"

"Tell me what you want Peeta?"

He shakes his head as if he still can't believe what I'm saying, but his hand picks up pace, stroking himself with vigour. "Fuck Katniss," he curses with a guttural moan, "I want to come on your tits."

He moans again as he comes in warm spurts over my skin. The look on his face and the overwhelming sensation of it all nearly has me coming apart with him.

He stands there his cock still in his hands unable to take his eyes off me. "Holy shit," he whispers and its sounds like a prayer rather than a profanity.

He seems mesmerised for a moment, before he snaps out of his daze and bends to hand me his dress shirt so that I can wipe myself clean.

He offers me his hand and helps me up from my knees and as he does his head jerks slightly, "When I said it… at the café…you have to know it was just words. I…I wasn't expecting this to happen."

"I know," I say, reaching out to stroke his arm right up to his shoulder and then over his bare chest. "But are you honestly telling me you haven't thought about it?"

"I've thought about it practically every night since you started working at the café," he admits.

"Me too!" I can't help smiling at his shocked expression, nor as I continue, "It wasn't the only thing I thought about."

He raises his eyebrows, and with a wolfish grin agrees, "Me neither." With that he grabs me and all but throws me on to the sofa. "I've thought about doing this a lot." It's my turn to be shocked as he drags my underwear down in one abrupt movement, then with his hands on my knees, he spreads me wide.

He pulls me forward by the hips, so I'm sat on the edge of the cushions and then he kisses my inner leg just above my knee. He moves slowly upwards one small kiss at a time, until the anticipation has me practically panting for him.

I let my head drop back, as his tongue finally swipes across me and an embarrassingly loud groan escapes me. Followed by another and another until I'm beyond caring what I sound like.

For someone who has so little control over what comes out of his mouth, he certainly knows what to do with it.

He sucks, licks, nibbles and teases my sensitive skin, front to back, leaving no inch of me neglected, whilst I buck and ride against his mouth, fisting in his hair. All the time loudly letting him know exactly how fucking amazing he feels.

His fingers, joining his ministrations, pumping in and out of me, are my final undoing and I cry out his name. My eyes slide closed as I feel him kiss my inner thigh again and I smile when I feel his naked body joining mine on the sofa.

I give a contented murmur as I snuggle against his warmth and drift off.

* * *

 _ **I think promised someone an eventful chapter - what d'ya think eventful enough?**_

 _ **Anyway I hope you all enjoyed it – please let me know if you did. I think there's someone out there reading, but I'm not entirely sure. I'm much more inclined to update regularly if you let me know you want to read more.**_

 _ **Have a happy Halloween**_

 _ **p.s. MBE = Member of the Order of the British Empire: a special honour that is given in the UK to someone who has achieved something special.**_


	5. Chapter 5

_**I wasn't planning on updating until next week but as it's November now I felt like I should get the last of the October chapters out of the way. If you enjoy the chapter please leave a review – I'd love to know if there are more than 3 people out there reading it!**_

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 **October Part Four**

PPOV

I wake warm and comfortable, soft plump pillows beneath my cheek and the blissful sensation of a naked body pressed against mine.

I open my eyes to find Katniss already awake and watching me. She fell asleep on the sofa last night and hardly stirred when I carried her to bed. The memory of what directly preceded her passing out, is enough to have me instantly hard against her thigh.

Last night was completely unexpected and I wish I knew exactly what she was thinking this morning, but the fact that she's still pressed up against me has to be a good sign.

"Morning," I say, because it seems like a safe place to start.

"Good morning," she replies softly.

'So uh…you said you wanted to order breakfast in bed."

"Seriously?" she raises her eyebrows at me incredulously, her forehead furrowing further as her expression deepens into a scowl. "Tell me you're not really thinking about food right now?"

"I um…" My face twitches and my chin juts up automatically. You'd think after last night I wouldn't feel quite so intimidated by her, but ironically I'm even more worried about saying the wrong thing now. Thankfully she doesn't wait for me to answer.

"Because I can't even think about breakfast right now. Because all I can think about is last night and the way your mouth felt," she states, without it seems even a hint of self-consciousness. "Because either I was drunker than I thought I was and I've imagined just how good you were, or - and I'm hoping this is the truth because I don't feel hungover - you were in fact that amazing."

I think I'm blushing, no, I know I'm blushing. "Uh…I …" God what am I supposed to say to that? No one has ever praised my oral skills before. But then I don't think I've ever thrown absolutely everything into my actions I possibly could, like my life depended on it - including some pointers I picked up from a porno I watched the other night - because I knew it was likely to be my one and only chance at spending the night with Katniss Everdeen. I hadn't factored on there being a morning as well. God, what if I don't live up to her memory?

She doesn't give me any time for further doubt. Her hand sneaks between us, cupping my balls before moving to stroke my increasingly hard dick. "Do you want me Peeta?" she asks, as she continues to stroke me. "Because it feels like you do. And I _really_ want to feel your mouth again."

I don't think I've ever encountered anyone as direct before. And I can't help worrying that the only reason I felt good last night was because she told me _exactly_ what felt good. Her noises and encouragement gave me a complete guide to what she wanted. Without her direction there's a big chance that this morning could be a serious let down for her.

She kisses me, one hand tangling and fisting in my hair, as her mouth moves forceful and demanding against mine. The feeling of being so overwhelmingly wanted is intoxicating and I find any remaining doubt and inhibitions melting away with her kisses.

I stroke her breasts gaining satisfaction from the way her nipples harden as she arches into my touch. When I replace my fingers with my mouth she tugs at my hair, directing me to suck harder. The rough drag of my teeth on her nipple extracts a pained "yes" from her, so I pay the same attention to her other breast before beginning to kiss my way south over her belly.

She has lost the sun kissed look she had when she first started work at the café, but the remnants of her tan still make her look dark against my overly pale skin. I can still see faint tan lines as I kiss down to where her bikini bottoms would have started.

She spreads her legs and as I move lower she hitches one leg up and over my shoulder, opening herself to me. I moan at the sight of how wet she is already. I alternate between watching the movements of my fingers as they glide over her and the look of pure want in her eyes, as she in turn watches me admiring her. The sound of her moaning my name as I taste her for the first time again, is almost enough to bring me to a premature end.

Any concern I might have harboured that I wouldn't be able to remember what it was that felt so good to her is unnecessary as, just like last night, she tells me exactly what she wants from me. "Oh, god yes….just there…fuck Peeta, like that…ah…oh fuck! Don't stop!" She rides with me, pressing against me when she wants it harder. Her grasp on my hair is bordering on torture but I wouldn't stop her for the world, not when she's making those noises.

She continues to moan both her appreciation and her directions, but when I try to slide my fingers inside her tight warmth as I did last night she stops me.

"No. I want to feel _you_."

"I don't have any condoms," I confess. I never considered this or last night as a possibility, so packing condoms didn't even cross my mind.

"In my wash bag, in the bathroom," she directs.

I basically sprint - well at lest as fast as I can with an erection - to the bathroom. I don't stop to get just one, instead bringing the whole strip of condoms with me and ripping one off on the way, tossing the others on to the bedside table, tearing into the foil with my teeth, extracting the condom and rolling it on as quickly as I can before I stop and realise how I must look.

I'm acting so frantically desperate, she's bound to guess what a massive loser I am and that I haven't had sex for months, nearly a year. But when I look at her she doesn't look like she thinks I'm funny or pathetic, if anything she looks just as desperate as I feel.

I let my dick slide between her legs a few times. I can feel her heat through the barrier of the condom and it feels incredible. I only hope I can hold it together long enough to make this good for her and prevent me being a huge disappointment to her.

Her breath hitches as I push into her and I groan, she feels even better than her mouth last night. I try to focus on anything but the feeling that I want to come. I run through the menu for next week, but that only makes me think about her at the café and that ridiculously tiny skirt she wears. I think about the train journey home but I just end up thinking about her again.

She's not exactly helping matters. She arches up to meet my every thrust with her legs wrapped about me, her heels digging into my ass like she's spurring me on to the finish. Please god, just don't let it be a premature one.

Oh god, I need her to come. I put my mouth to her breast and take her nipple between my teeth again, sucking harshly on her. She gasps loudly, but her grip on my hair traps me there, so I do it again and again even though my movements are becoming less and less coordinated.

She moans my name and I swear I've never heard anything so erotic in my life. Even if this is the one and only time I get to be with her, this memory is one that is going to endure and be revisited for a very long time when I'm on my own.

Just like last night I feel her tremor start to grow, like it's taking over her body, growing ever more intense. She comes with such ferocity that I can't help wondering if every other orgasm I've witnessed in previous partners have been fake.

The thought is almost but not quite enough to put me off my stride, and it only takes a few more erratic thrusts until I come.

I collapse onto where her body has melted beneath me, her breathing laboured and her heart drumming away wildly in her chest.

I roll off quickly, worried about crushing her small frame with mine and flop onto my back.

"Shit Mellark," she says, without turning to look at me, still staring up at the ceiling. "Explain to me why you're still single again."

"Well, there's the face tics, the erratic head movements and oh yeah, best of all, the tendency to call girls a fucking slut during the first date."

She laughs, a bubbling and joyous sound. "Yeah, but you just need to put 'incredible sex and mind-blowing orgasms guaranteed' on your dating profile and you'd have them queuing up."

"I'm pretty sure the incredible sex bit was mainly down to you, not me." No one else has ever mentioned me being mind blowing before, in fact the last girl that dumped me mentioned something about me being fairly mediocre in bed. Not that I'm about to tell Katniss that.

Katniss turns to look at me, narrowing her eyes as she scrutinises me. "I don't know who has given you the impression you aren't good in bed," she guesses, with an intimidatingly angry look, "but she was a bitch and a liar."

Then she lets out a deep lazy sigh and her face relaxes, "I think I'm ready for breakfast in bed now."

We don't need to check out, there are no bills to be paid and we already called down to the concierge to arrange a taxi, so we can just leave, but Katniss raises the question I've been wondering about myself.

"Do you want or need to speak to your family before we go?" she asks, as we're heading down to the ground floor.

"I imagine they're busy with other guests," I say. I hope I don't sound like a total coward for wanting to sneak off and I'm glad she doesn't attempt to talk me out of it.

We're almost out of the front door, when Katniss stops me. "I just want say thank you for inviting me." She stretches up on her toes and places a kiss to my lips which quickly escalates from a thank you kiss to an R rated one. One hand is on the back of my neck holding me to her as her tongue strokes mine, the other slips into the back pocket of my jeans before she squeezes my ass.

"Thank you for coming with me," I respond, as we come up for air.

"Anytime," she smirks.

Then over her shoulder I see Mark. There's a look of surprise and disgusted annoyance on his face. I give him a smile that tells him just what a lucky bastard I know I am. "See you at Christmas," I call over.

When I turn around I see the mirror behind me. Did Katniss know Mark was there? Was he the only reason she kissed me?

"You've been very quiet," she says, as we board the train. "Are you okay?" I know she can't have failed to notice the blinking and twitching that has accompanied my strained silence.

"Did…did you kiss me because Mark was there?"

"Yes," she states unapologetically. "I wanted the arsehole to know. If you give me his email I'll send him a message letting him know what an incredible lay you are as well. It doesn't mean I didn't enjoy kissing you." She leans closer and whispers, "And he's not here now."

Unlike the packed carriage on our outward journey, the train is almost empty and there's no one except the cows in the fields whizzing past the window, to see her kiss me now. Nor the way her hand moves over the front of my jeans, until I have to stop her before things get messy.

When we arrive at the station it's clear we need to get two taxis. We're heading in different directions and it doesn't make sense to share.

"So, I had a good time this weekend." She chews on her lip before she smiles and my heart sinks. I've seen that smile before, it usually accompanies the gentle let down. "But perhaps it would be wise for both of us if we were to quit whilst we're ahead. Hazelle's not due back to work until the later next month and I wouldn't want things to get weird between us at the café. This way we had a great weekend - I mean the hotel was out of this world, it was like something from a film or a fairy tale. So why don't we just keep it at that? Something incredible but entirely separate from real life?"

I nod. What she says is sensible and I can't really be disappointed. I don't have any right to be. If I hadn't had the chance to spend the night with her, then I could feel disappointed, but not now, not after last night and this morning. I have no regrets about how we spent this weekend.

"So I'll see you tomorrow," she waves, as she climbs into the back of the taxi. I just nod dumbly again and watch the taxi pull away. I can't help the very loud "FISH," that erupts from me without warning nor the next three that follow after.

The taxi stops at about the same time and the back door opens. She's half in and half out the taxi saying something to the driver before she runs back.

"Fuck real life," she says, as she reaches me. "I'm sleeping at your's tonight."

 _ **Hope you enjoyed reading, please let me know what you think.**_


	6. Chapter 6

**November**

PPOV

I watch Katniss from where I'm writing up today's specials on the menu board. She's talking to two of our regulars as she drops off their coffees.

Her hair is scraped up into a messy bun and the baggy wide neck top she's wearing has slipped from one shoulder to show the vest top she's wearing underneath. I know exactly how tightly it clings to her hidden curves, because I was the one that peeled it off of her last night. If we were alone right now I'd go up behind her, kiss the length of her slender neck and cup her through that skin-tight top. I'd press up against her ass and let her feel exactly how much I want her right now. She'd let out that sexy, throaty groan of hers - the one that gives me the sense of being in command, even though in reality she's the one making all the demands. I'd raise her hands and lower her leggings, then take her up against the wall or bent her over the top of one of the café's tables.

But we are not alone and no one here would guess that I kissed every inch of that lithe body last night, or that I'll be doing it again the very first chance I have. Especially as I don't know how many more chances I will get.

Hazelle is back at work; she's currently sat at a table with Delly folding napkins and catching up on gossip. It's her first week back and she's been taking it easy, only doing part-time hours, but she's hoping that within a couple of weeks she'll be back at work full-time. She feels bad for holding Katniss up. Katniss knows someone in Brisbane and they've offered her a job for their summer months. She plans on escaping the cold greyness of British winter and swapping it for the Australian sunshine. I can just see her on the beach in a barely there bikini, her skin bronzed like it was when she first came to work at the café. I can also picture the tanned Australian guys that will be hovering around her, trying to catch her eye.

I try not to think about her leaving. There is no point dwelling on the inevitable. Katniss has made no secret about her plans to travel again nor about the exact nature of our _relationship,_ if you can even call it that. Sex would be a better description. It has become a fairly steady routine that after we close up on a Saturday night she comes back to mine, stays until mid-morning and then, when she heads home, I head to the gym before coming into the café to get started on Monday's menu. Sometimes Katniss comes back with me during the week but I think she finds the early hour I get up too hard. So usually I only see her once or twice a week, and the rest of the time I have no idea how she spends her nights, or who with. That is part of the unspoken, casual arrangement we have. No one knows about us, especially not here at work. We are not a couple. We are just hooking up, temporarily, whilst Katniss is filling in for Hazelle.

I figure I have about a month, a month and a half tops, before Katniss is out of here. So whilst I try not to think about her leaving, pathetically I have done a mental sum of the minimum and maximum number of times I'll get to spend the night with her before it's all over. I've told myself over and over again, until I almost believe it, that this relationship has been good for me. I feel different, more confident when I'm with Katniss and that will give me the courage to get back out there and date again. Hell, if a girl like Katniss can be interested in me, then why shouldn't I find someone else when she's gone? But the truth is, casual arrangement or not, I'm worried it's going to take me a long time to get over her and I'm pretty certain I don't stand a chance of finding anyone else that even remotely compares to her.

My chin juts up violently, the movement sending an involuntary jolt through my body and the letter 'd' I was forming becomes a messy line streaking up to the right.

I bounce on my toes, shake out my shoulders and hands, and roll my neck just as I do before I start punching and kicking at a hanging bag at the gym.

When I look up Katniss is watching me and she sends me a smile.

It's not her teasing smile, the one that's accompanied by a wicked glint in her eyes. Nor her side splitting one, as she laughs silently, beyond noise, at something she's found hilarious on TV. It isn't the lazy, beautiful smile she wears after sex, when the way she looks at me makes me feel incredible, and it's certainly not the polite, perfunctory smile she gives to customers. It's the smile she sends when I have an outburst but we're somewhere she can't run her calming hands up my arms and place a distracting kiss to my neck. It's the smile that says its ok, I shouldn't stress about drawing attention to myself and that I shouldn't care. The same thing I've been telling myself for years but that seems easier to believe when she says it.

I take a couple of deep breaths, then with a wet rag I remove the ruined 'd' and start writing again.

.~.

KPOV

"Are you sure you'll be okay on your own?" Aunty Hazelle asks for at least the hundredth time. She's got her coat on and she's been halfway out the door about six times but she still hasn't left. Whilst I know she means well, it's getting bloody annoying. I've been working here for weeks and, between her absence and Delly's midwife appointments, I've pretty much been running the café's front of house on my own.

"I'll be fine," I reassure Aunt Haze, forcing a smile onto my face. "You go home and put your feet up." My Aunt is adamant that she'll be back to work full time in a couple of weeks but, as much as she tried to hide it, she looked exhausted during the lunchtime rush today. I think she's seriously underestimating how long it's going to take her to get back to full strength.

"Well if you're sure? I'll see you tomorrow then," Aunty Hazelle responds, still sounding hesitant. I return her parting wave as cheerily as I can, hopefully hiding my relief that she's finally going.

I've given all the tables a damn good wipe down, refilled the salt, pepper and sugar on each table, run the dishwasher, scrubbed down the coffee machine and done a stock take on the consumables that we use behind the bar by the time Delly returns from her regular midwife session.

It's obvious as soon as she walks through the door that she is not ok.

"Delly what's the matter, is…" _Shit do I really want to ask this?_ "Is the baby alright?"

She nods with an uncharacteristically unladylike sniff, as she sinks down in a chair at an empty table.

"It's just…" she sniffs again, as I join her at the table. "I just realised that I'm having a baby."

I raise my eyebrows at her in a "really" fashion and she quickly elaborates. "I just realised that I'm having this baby and I won't be there for it. I always planned on coming back to work after about six weeks, but," she gives a full on sob, "I don't want to."

I hand her a folded napkin from the table and she loudly blows her nose. "But this place is my baby too, you know," she continues. "Peeta and I, we started it from nothing. I mean I always knew that it would be a success because, well you've tasted his food. But it was so much work to get this place off the ground and I don't want to leave it." She takes a deep breath. "I love your aunt, I really do. Hazelle is great, the customers love her, but…well she… she doesn't understand what it takes to run this place the way I do…the way you do."

She's looking at me now, expectantly, with these great big, deep soulful eyes like some sorrowful bloody cow or something. "If I knew you were going to be here, looking after things, taking my place I'd feel like I could really relax, that I could enjoy the time I want at home, with my baby." She sniffs again and a few fat tears roll down her cheeks. "I just don't want to be a terrible mother."

God, what am I supposed to say to that? No? Screw you I have plans, and your kid will just have to learn to love nursery like all the other babies?

I take a deep breath and nod. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yes, Okay." Jeez don't push your luck bitch! I've said yes don't make me change my mind. But as Peeta comes out of the kitchen carrying a tray of pastries in preparation for the after school and after work crowd, I know that I won't.

Damn he looks good. I know it's awful but sometimes I'm glad he has Tourette's. There were a group of women in earlier, far too old to be drooling over him like they were, but it made me realise that if Peeta didn't have Tourette's he wouldn't have time to spend with me. He would have been snatched up by someone else ages ago. Selfishly, I feel lucky that every other girl he's dated has been too shallow too see past his condition. I don't know why they found it so difficult, sometimes I almost forget about it. Sure he blurts things out, but they just roll of me like water off a duck's back, I swear like a fucking trooper myself so why should I care if he lets rip with a few choice expletives every now and then? Anyway most of the time his Tourette's manifests itself as the involuntary nodding of his head, like he's trying to swallow something difficult, that I've become so accustomed to I'm practically oblivious to it.

"It won't be forever, obviously, but if we could just make a solid arrangement for at least three months after the birth that would be fabulous," Delly gushes excitedly and I realise that whilst I've been ogling Peeta she's still been talking. "So I can tell Peeta?" she queries. "That you've agreed to stay on until after Easter?"

Easter! I'm pretty sure Easter next year is at the end of April, it's currently only mid-November, Easter is way more than three months away. 'Uh yeah, sure. That's fine," I tell her, my attention still divided between her and Peeta. The material of his white t-shirt is stretched taut across his shoulders as he pushes the kitchen door open. "You can head home if you like, I'll let Peeta know," I tell her.

"I should really tell Peeta myself," she says, but without much conviction. "But I would like to talk to Thom and let him know the news. So if you're sure?" Her words might sound like she's torn but the beaming smile on her face says she's already made up her mind up to go home. "You're a real keeper you know that don't you? Are you sure you won't consider staying here full time?"

"Um, I'll think about it," I mumble absent-mindedly.

Delly goes home immediately after our conversation and the afternoon is pretty quiet except for a rush on takeaway coffees five minutes before we are due to close at 6 o'clock. Rory is long gone, and truthfully I could have left about half an hour ago but I'm still here.

Peeta is just taking off his apron and hanging it on the hook when I walk into the kitchen.

"Peeta." He looks up at his name with a started expression, as if he didn't hear my approach. "I uh… I need to talk to you about something." Shit why do I feel nervous about this? He's the one getting the good deal here right? He's going to be happy I'm staying longer, isn't he? But he doesn't look happy right now.

"I …I spoke to Delly earlier and she asked me to…well she's worried about the baby…"

"Is everything okay," he asks with alarm.

"God, yes, yes," I quickly reassure him. "Its nothing bad, she's worried about not spending enough time at home with the baby. She asked me if I could work here longer."

He makes an unexpectedly pained noise. "Its okay," he groans, 'I'll talk to her. I'll explain that you have plans. Delly means well, she can just be a bit intense, especially about the baby. But I'll let her know you can't…"

"I already agreed."

"You did?" He looks like I just knocked the air out of him. It wasn't exactly the reaction I was expecting.

"I just uh…look if it's going to be awkward… I know that you didn't expect me to stay this long so…I could just…um," I stumble over my words with an uncomfortable uncertainly. Fuck what is wrong with me? This is the exact reason I don't get involved with guys - no responsibility, no care, certainly no anxiety. "So if you don't want to continue with our…um," what shall I call it, "our um…arrangement."

His eyes screw shut, almost painfully so, as he blinks. "I…I…Katniss, I don't want you to…"

Shit! My stomach drops like a stone. I was right to be apprehensive after all, but I'm surprised by how much it hurts, much more than just a sting of pride. I take a step back, as if putting some distance between us will help. He looks alarmed, suddenly seizes me by the waist and then he kisses me. Kisses me until there is no question of mixed messages, only the realisation that I misunderstood.

When we come up for air I ask, "So does that mean…?"

"I want to continue?" he finishes. He grins then kisses me again in answer.

Just as I was shocked by how much his perceived rejection hurt, I'm surprised by the rush of relief I feel.

"I just didn't want you to feel it was expected." He blinks and nods. "To feel …um…obligated."

I shake my head, certain obligation is the last thing on my mind. "If you're finished up here why don't you take me home?" I suggest.

Peeta looks surprised by my suggestion. He mumbles something about it not being Saturday, so that I wonder if I've said the wrong thing until he kisses me with such intensity that when he breaks away I'm left blushing like I'm in the throws of my first teenage crush.

"Come on," I say, trying not to appear as self-conscious as this whole situation is inexplicably making me feel, "lets go home."

* * *

 _ **So I suddenly realised this was the only November chapter so I really don't have any need to update again until December! I guess I could be convinced to update sooner if I thought there were people out there reading but I'm pretty sure there are only 10 of you! (5 chapters and 50 reviews)**_

 _ **I'd love to hear what you thought of the story - one word reviews completely accepted! Getting some feedback from you readers really is the only way I can tell if someone is out there reading and enjoying it or not. So I would really really appreciate it.**_

 _ **So if you've enjoyed the story so far please leave a short review.**_

 _ **Thank you for reading.**_

 _ **D**_


	7. Chapter 7

_**Do you ever start something and then wish you hadn't but you're so far through it you can't really give up? That's kind of how this chapter has been. This chapter wasn't in the story to begin with but then there was such a great response to the last chapter and I felt bad that there was only one November chapter that I started writing this one. But it turned into a monster and I was really, really short of spare time so it was just going nowhere. I am however aware that it is the last day of November and it would feel dumb posting this in December cause I might as well have not bothered and just posted the original December chapters! so you get an extra Chapter BUT it's really really really rough and unfinished and probably full of spelling and grammar errors (even more than usual!)**_

 _ **Anyway enjoy and PLEASE leave a review and let me know whether it was worth the effort!**_

 **November Part 2**

KPOV

What with Aunt Haze's operation and the fact that it seems to be increasingly hard to get out of Peeta's bed on Sunday mornings, it's been ages since I've been round for Sunday lunch. Even on the rare occasions when our hunger gets Peeta and I out of bed before noon, I still find myself hanging out at his apartment until the early afternoon, when he heads to the gym before going to the restaurant, and I go home to catch up on boring necessities like laundry.

But Aunt Haze has been laying on the guilt about me not visiting pretty thickly this past week, so I'm playing the good niece today to keep her happy, and hopefully shut her up. Besides it'll be good to see my younger cousins.

I let myself into the house, where I have lived on and off since I was 14 but which has never truly felt like home. I'm about to call out when I hear the raised voices coming from the kitchen at the end of the hallway. They're loud, even over the blare of the television.

I put my head round the doorway of the lounge to see Vic glued to his phone and Posy watching something sickeningly sparkly and girly, where all the female cartoon characters inexplicably have the same nauseatingly high pitched sugary voices.

"Hi," I say. They both return my greeting without looking up. "So what's up?"

"Rory's got a hickey," Posy answers, still not breaking her gaze on the television.

"A hickey?" I raise my eyebrows.

"Yeah, you know, a love bite," she explains, in case I'm too dumb to know.

"And that's why they're…?" I'm cut short by Aunt Haze's rather terse voice announcing that lunch is ready.

Vic gets up from the sofa, still texting, and heads toward the kitchen. I turn the TV off, which earns me an angry whine and pout from Posy, but I know she'd still be sat there for another half an hour otherwise.

"Katniss," Aunt Haze welcomes me, as I kiss her cheek. She looks flushed and a bit frazzled. I take some of the dishes from her and carry them to the dinning table.

"So," I say, unable to resist, as we all sit down. "Have a good night last night then Rory?"

He shoots me daggers from across the table and I know he'd tell me to fuck off his mother wasn't sat at the other end of the table.

"I'm not going to mention anything more about it," Aunt Haze says, dolloping a large mound of mashed potato onto her plate with excessive force. "He's a big boy. It's not for me to tell him who he can and cannot see. If he wants to date someone like _that_ , then it's up to him. All I'm saying is that it's just not the sort of thing that nice girls do."

It's a good thing I'm not much of a blusher - well at least I hope I'm not, although the room does suddenly feel very warm – and that Aunt Haze can't see what looks suspiciously like a hickey on the inside of my thigh. Or guess at how tender my nipples feel today - they suffered from quite a bit of 'love biting' of a different kind last night. If, according her, nice girls don't give hickey's then I don't think I want to know Aunt Haze's opinion on the sort of girl who allows herself to receive them.

"What do you think Katniss?" Rory asks. His face is perfectly innocent but I can see the vindictive satisfaction he's enjoying at dragging me into this clearly displayed in his eyes. I guess I deserve it, I did start it, but I still narrow my eyes at him and if he were closer I'd kick him.

"In my day girls just didn't do that sort of thing, not unless they wanted to get themselves a bad name," Aunt Haze continues to mutter at the end of the table.."

"What was it mum?" Posy asks.

"Hmmm?" My aunt looks up as if just realizing she was talking out aloud.

"What name did they get? You said they got a bad one, what was it?"

My aunt suddenly looks very uncomfortable, coughs and asks someone to pass her the peas.

"So," Aunt Haze says, swiftly changing the subject. "I was surprised that you agreed to stay at the café until Easter, Katniss?

"Delly was worried. She'd got herself into a bit of a state and I couldn't really say no. She just wants a bit more time off after the baby is born and she didn't want to leave you and Peeta under staffed." I explain, feeling like I need to justify my decision.

"Peeta seems different," Aunt Haze says thoughtfully. "Since I've been back he's just been … I don't know? Just different somehow."

"I think he might be seeing someone," Rory says and looks straight at me.

I nearly choke on my roast chicken. Does Rory know? Has he guessed? Shit maybe Peeta and I haven't been as careful as we think. Our _liaisons_ have mainly taken place after work, but there have been a few times we've taken advantage of an afternoon lull for a hurried rendezvous in the storeroom. Did Rory see us sneaking in or worse hear us?

"You know I think you're right," Aunt Haze says, mulling it over as she chews. "I think it's that girl from across the road, you know the florist what's she called?"

"Zoë." Rory answers his mum, but he's still looking at me - gaging my reaction perhaps? "I don't know, I think its someone else," he says and the cheeky git raises his eyebrows at me.

"Yes that's right, Zoë," Aunt Haze agrees, thankfully oblivious to Rory's last comment. "She's been in an awful lot recently, and she always seems to come over whenever Peeta is writing up the boards outside."

Does she? Why hadn't I noticed that? The florist, I rack my brain to think which one she is.

"Is she the red head?" I ask as casually as I can.

"Hmm, that's right," My Aunt says through a mouthful of potato. "Red hair, lots of it, pretty face."

"And really big…" Rory's gesture implies the florist also has two substantial handfuls in the chest department.

Aunt Haze shoots him a disapproving look but carries on. "They'd make an attractive couple. Poor boy, he deserves to find someone like that. She is a _nice_ girl." I bristle at her last comment, even though it's directed at Rory. I'm not sure what about it annoys me most. Aunt Haze's unintentional patronizing of Peeta, the thought that there is someone after him, or that I have, by Aunt Haze's earlier definition, already been classified as not the _nice_ kind of girl that Peeta deserves.

"What about Katniss?" Rory asks. _Fuck he really does know_! He grins at me widely, the bloody little shit-stirrer. I practically growl at him.

"He's right," Aunt Haze agrees and my eyes widen in surprise, as for a second I think she's saying I would be good for Peeta. "You deserve to find someone better than those…" her eyes dart to her young daughter as she considers her words, "well the sort of men you usually date. But then, you're never going to meet the right one if you're constantly running off all over the world. I feel dizzy just trying to keep up with of it all. I don't know whether you're in South America or South Africa. I know you think I'm a silly old woman, but it's not safe for a single girl to be gadding about all over the place. And its not just that, you'll never get anywhere in life if you're always having to start from scratch. You're a bright girl, you should have stayed on at school, but oh no, you were out of here the second you could." She pauses for breath and a bite of roast chicken but she's not done.

"I know you're still planning on going to Australia, but it's not too late to change your mind. You never know, if you gave it half a chance, you might find it's not so bad here after all and that you don't need to run off all the time."

"Mr Right could be right under her nose, couldn't he mum?" Rory says with false sincerity, to which Aunt Haze of course agrees whole-heartedly. I scowl at my annoying cousin but he just looks like he might burst a rib from having to containing his laughter.

I successfully manage to steer Aunt Haze onto the subject of Christmas and she and then Posy fill the conversation with plans and present wishlists. I'm happy to take a back seat on the conversation to avoid attracting any more attention, but I can't stop stewing over the previous conversation.

When I get back to Jo's empty house, I keep myself busy for as long as possible doing housework and laundry, but what Aunt Haze said is still bugging me.

I pick up the phone and call for some moral support.

"Hey Catnip," Gale answers with the nickname he created purely to annoy me, and which only he can get away with calling me. "You do know its still 2015 right?" I don't answer, just roll my eyes aware I'm headed towards some sarcastic comment. "Because," he continues, "I'm fairly certain I've already had my one annual phone call from you."

For some reason I'm clean out of witty responses. "I'm just calling to see what the little squirts want for Christmas this year," I lie.

"No you're not," he says, instantly calling me out.

"Sure I am." But I know there's no point even trying to sound convincing.

"Bullshit. You'll give them the same thing you have for the last three years, a gift card from toys r us." I'd like to argue that I'll put more thought into it than that but Gale's right, I probably will get a last minute uninspired gift card for my two nieces again this year.

"So what? I can't just call to say hello?"

"You know you can, whenever you want. But you don't! So why don't you tell me why you really called?" Gales is right. We're close. I'm probably closer to him than any of my other family, including Aunt Haze. When I first moved in with the Hawthornes, Gale was why I finally came out of my room for a reason other than school and meals. He used to belong to an archery club and he talked me into going along with him one weekend. Much later he admitted it was only because his mum bribed him to, but he still managed to get me interested in doing something other than staring at my walls and listening to angsty music. We bonded first over an enjoyable rivalry in archery and then formed a relationship beyond just cousins, we became good friends as well. Although Gale was a couple of years older than me, we were on the same wavelength. He seemed to get me and vice versa. He started including me in his social group and letting me tag along at weekends. He even talked his then girlfriend, now wife, Madge into befriending me, which honestly can't have been easy. I was a surly moody thing in a pretty dark place most of the time back then.

Gale and I just aren't close in a 'we need to talk to each other all the time' kind of way. So he's right to be suspicious.

"Katniss?" Gale prompts.

"Do you think I should go to Australia?" I blurt.

"When have you ever needed my advice on travel plans?" he asks. "What's up?"

"Your mum told me that it's time I settled down."

"What 'cause you're getting _really_ old?" he laughs.

"I know. She's being dumb right?" I say, glad he agrees. "I'm only 24. But she's all _'you need to settle down, you're never going to get a good job or meet anyone if you keep running off_.' But I don't have to worry about that shit yet, right?"

His silence is deafening.

"Well?"

"What do you want me to say Katniss?"

"To tell me I'm right."

"Is that why you rang? Just to get me to agree with you so you'll feel better when you run off again?"

"I'm not running off! Why does everyone keep saying that? I just wanted your opinion that's all. I'm sorry I asked."

He sighs heavily down the phone. "All right you can have my opinion, but you're not going to like it. No you don't have to worry about _that shit_ yet. You are still young, there's still plenty of time to work out what you want to do and get a good job. You could go back to school or retrain. And there's still plenty of time to meet someone and settle down, if you _actually_ wanted to."

"What do you mean by that?"

I hear him take another deep breath before he answers me. "Mum's right. You are running. You've been running ever since you were 18 and you haven't stopped. Mum's wrong, reason you haven't met someone isn't because you're travelling all the time, it's because you won't allow yourself. It's why you only date assholes."

I start to protest but Gale cuts me off. "I've met a lot of them Katniss, and believe me they were assholes. I used to think you were just really unlucky, but then Madge pointed out that you pick them on purpose and I realised she was right. It's the same with your jobs. You only pick crappy jobs where nothing is expected of you and you do the same with relationships. The first sign of promotion or if someone decent is actually interested in you and you're off. You run scared." You're afraid of failure."

"That's not true."

"Yes it is. You think nothing of trekking around the world on your own, but when it comes to putting yourself out there and committing to anything which runs the risk of failure, you're too afraid to do it. Because if you don't really commit you can't fail or get hurt right? Is that why everything in your life is so transient? If you're never in one place for too long you can't risk people finding out anything about the real you? Tell me, how many friends do you have? Real friends Katniss, not just people you travel with for a couple of weeks and never see again?" Doesn't it ever get lonely?"

He pauses, then answers my hurt silence a little less bluntly.

"I understand Katniss. After you're mum…"

"It's got nothing to do with that," I snap.

"Okay. I'm just saying…" he breathes out heavily. "I don't know. I just want you to be happy and so does Mum. She worries about you when you're away. We all do."

"Don't worry about me. I'm fine," I answer sharply.

"Okay, good I'm glad," he says in a irritatingly placating tone, that he's acquired since becoming a parent. "And only you can decide if you want to go travelling again or whether you want to stay. But for what it's worth I'd like to see more of you, so would Madge and the kids."

After I get off the phone I end up going to bed early. It's pointless though I can't get to sleep. I'm still awake when I hear Jo clomping up the stairs at about 11 o'clock. From the voices and laughter, I can hear that Thresh is with her. She's been seeing him ever since the night Cato was here. He's a consultant - something to do with sports injuries and knee joints - that she had to bring in for a court case and they hit it off right away.

Unfortunately - well unfortunately for me not Jo - as well as being one of the UK's leading specialists and being seriously built, Thresh can go for hours. I have to lie in bed and listen to the two of them go at it for what feels like three hours. Even with a pillow over my head I can still hear them. I really wish I had gone to Peeta's after Aunt Haze's instead of coming back here.

I'm really tempted to text Peeta to ask if can come round, but it's late, he's most certainly asleep. He's not going to want me turning up on his doorstep at this time in the night, or rather morning. But the combination of my conversation with Gale and listening to another couple makes me suddenly feel terribly alone. I know that at Peeta's flat there's a warm bed and a warm pair of arms waiting for me, and I want it so much it hurts to think about it. For once I have to admit that Gale is right - that does scare me.

Shit. I'm getting in over my head here. I don't know what's happening to me. If I didn't know any better I'd think I was falling for Peeta. Not just I like you, you're great in bed and you're fun to spend time with. But really, truly, actually falling for him. I feel as sappy and pathetic as those squeaky-voiced, girly characters in Posy's cartoon show. What on earth is wrong with me?

When I wake I feel crap from the scant sleep I had last night, but I am beyond relieved to discover that I have my period. Not because Peeta and I haven't been careful but because the fluctuating, all-over-the-show, hormones that accompany it help explain the ridiculous emotional mess I was in last night.

It also excuses my overwhelming desire to fly across the road when I see redhead come out of her shop and start across the road to where Peeta is wiping the blackboards clean in preparation for writing up today's specials.

I recognize her now. She does come into the café a lot, I just didn't realise she ran the flower shop. Aunt Haze was right she is nice, one of those floaty-skirt, flickable hair, wholesome types.

She says something and points across the road to her shop, he nods and follows her across. I can't get a good view from behind the counter, so I casually wander over to the tables in the window on the pretence of wiping them down.

I can just see Peeta and redhead inside the open door of her shop. She shows him a Christmas wreath and he says something and she beams at him. Beams! His chin juts up and although I can't hear it, I unmistakenly see him blurt something. She doesn't flinch, not a flicker. She's still smiling. She doesn't care. She doesn't care about his Tourettes. She's nice, pretty and she doesn't care about Peeta's Tourettes. I hate her.

She holds up some sprigs of holly and points over at the café making some sweeping gestures with her hands, I presume indicating what she could do with them and where they could hang.

She turns about and picks something else up from counter behind her. _Oh no bitch - you did not just pick up some mistletoe!_ She's holds it up high between them and she says something. He doesn't kiss her - which is a good thing as I can't honestly say I wouldn't sprint straight over there - but instead he laughs.

Not a polite requisite laugh but a proper you're really funny laugh. I grit my teeth and scowl at them. It's not like it's _my_ laugh, a special one he only has for me, it's just Peeta's laugh. Only, I usually see him laugh like that when we're together.

Redhead is nice, she's got big tits, she's pretty, she doesn't care about Peeta's Tourette's and she makes him laugh. Haze is right, she would be perfect for him. And once I'm gone there's no reason why they shouldn't get together. I feel a queasy unease as I realise there is really nothing stopping them now. It's not like Peeta and I have expressed any exclusivity - I'm not his actual real girlfriend.

I suppose I should be happy for him, I know he's had a less than successful love life – it's ironic to think there's been someone perfect for him, right under his nose, all this time – but I'm really not that generous. I'm not that _nice_.

I spend the rest of the day in a grumpy mood, okay grumpy might be a bit of an understatement. In my head Peeta and Zoë are a done deal. I've pictured them together, not just doing the sort of things we do – which let's face it is mainly limited to sex – but doing all the things we don't. I've imagined them them walking hand in hand in the park, cooking together, having dinner parties with their friends. They're like one long happy TV commercial for perfect coupledom in my mind.

"Are you okay," Peeta asks, just after lunch.

"Fine," I say shortly. I know it's irrational and entirely unfair but I'm in a bad mood with him about the imaginary things that he and redhead have been doing.

"Uh, so do you want to come back tonight? We could open a bottle of wine, cook something." I think of him and redhead in one of the many kitchen scenarios I've imagined this afternoon. She will, of course, be a wonderful cook.

"No," I snap. "I've got my period, so there's no point in me coming back."

"Oh, o-okay," His eyes screw painfully shut as his chin jerks up and I feel like shit. "I just…we don't…FUCK…we don't have to…FUCK FUCKING SLUT…FUCK."

I can't stand seeing him like this. I'm as bad as Mark causing Peeta this discomfort and aggravating his Tourettes. A large part of me feels like running straight out the door and keeping on running, but there's a much larger part of me that makes me stay. I mean to just step forward and run my hand up and down his arm but instead I end up launching myself at him, throwing my arms about him.

"FISH" I feel the jerk of his head, and then slowly he wraps his arms about me. It feels good. It's exactly what I wanted last night.

"I'm sorry," I mumble into his shoulder. "I shouldn't have snapped at you. I'm just tired and well it is bitch week," I try to joke.

"It's…it's okay" he says, his chin still jutting. "You don't have to come back. You know I don't expect …FISH…I wouldn't expect anything from you."

I know its not the way he means it but it still stings. It too closely echoes what Gale said to me last night and with my track record Peeta is right not to expect too much of me. I unwrap my arms and withdraw from his embrace. "I better, um...get back out front," I mumble, nodding towards the front of house and basically I run away.

It's so busy for the rest of the day that I almost don't have enough time to think about Peeta or what happened earlier. Almost.

It's just me out front, when Rory leaves for the day. I head back to the kitchen to find Peeta hanging up his apron. He jumps a little when he turns to discover me there. "Katniss! I thought you'd gone."

"I'm just leaving. It took me a while to clear up."

"Yeah, it was pretty busy today," he says, his chin jerking awkwardly.

"Crazy," I respond, almost as awkwardly. "I could do with that glass of wine now."

"Oh, I er…I thought that you didn't…so I made other plans." He looks truly apologetic.

"No, of course, I didn't mean come to yours…I just meant I wanted a drink that's all," I quickly backtrack verbally and physically out of the kitchen.

I go home take a long bath and try not to dwell on what Peeta's other plans for the evening involve. I'm fairly sure that it's hormonal paranoia to believe that they involve redhead but I end up imagining them together anyway, laughing over drinks in some bar or worse back at his place sharing the bottle of wine that was supposed to be mine.

It's just these stupid hormones and a lack of sleep making me over emotional I know, but I feel so rubbish I end up running to the corner shop and then eating my way through two family size bars of chocolate.

I over hear Peeta making plans the next day. "Yeah that's fine, that works for me. I'll meet you at the same time as yesterday…..Okay see you later."

I spend another sleepless night tossing and turning. I always sleep badly when I have my period, I get too hot but whilst I'm awake I end up thinking about everything that Gale said and then I can't get back to sleep.

I'm exhausted by the time I get to work on Wednesday, I haven't slept properly for days. I'm in a bad mood and I find it hard to be polite to the early morning customers.

When I head into the kitchen and see Peeta for the first time that morning I gasp. "Oh my god, Peeta!" I instinctively put my hand to his face to soothe his bruised and swollen cheek and eye. "What happened? Who did this to you?" Simmering under my concern is anger aimed at whoever is responsible for this.

"I did it at the gym. I was sparing and I wasn't FISH…I wasn't concentrating and I literally walked into someone's fist."

"Oh Peeta." I almost forget where I am as I lean in with every intention of placing a soft kiss to his bruises, until I hear a cough behind me. Rory is watching us with a very amused smirk on his face. If he wasn't sure something was going on between me and Peeta before, I just confirmed his suspicions. I pull back immediately, hastily give Peeta the three breakfast orders that were the reason I came into the kitchen in the first place, and leave, shooting a warning glare at Rory as I go.

I'm so distracted for the rest of the day that I could probably walk into a fist myself without noticing, but by late afternoon I have come to three conclusions:

1\. There's no point in denying it, I miss Peeta.

2\. He's unlikely to make the first move again. He's been polite but distant since I shot him down on Monday.

Which leads me to 3. If things are to go back to how they were, it's up to me. I need to pull myself together, stopping acting so pathetically and take control of this relationship. Yes I'm going to leave at some point, and maybe redhead and Peeta will get together once I'm gone, but I'm going to make damn sure that whilst I'm around she's the last person on his mind.

I'm sat at one of the tables after closing time, waiting, although I have no real reason to. I could have gone home when Rory left. Peeta closes the door from the kitchen behind him and turns off the lights as he heads the front door. He doesn't notice me until his hand is on the door.

"Katniss!" he gasps when he gets over his initial shock. "You scared me, I thought you left ages ago."

"I was just getting ready to go," I answer, as if it's not a big deal that I've been hanging around waiting for him for the last half an hour. I step outside with him and watch as he locks the front door. "So, are you going to the gym tonight?" I ask casually.

"No, I think I've had enough for this week."

"Right of course." I say, looking at his bruises. "So are you headed home or do you have plans?"

"No. No plans."

I take a deep breath, this shouldn't feel so hard. "Any chance the offer of a bottle of wine and meal still stand?"

"Uh…yeah. Sure, of course," he says clearly surprised, but there's a small smile on his lips.

"Okay, lets go," I tell him, feeling a little more confident that things are returning to normal.

I press him back against the hallway wall the second we're in his apartment and kiss him hard. It's only been a few days but it feels too long since I've been kissed like this as his mouth responds to mine. I want him to remember what he's been missing too.

"I need to take shower," Peeta says, when I let him up for air. I nod, he does smell like he spent the day in a kitchen. I take his hand and lead the way, not waiting for an invite.

We strip hastily and we're soon resuming what we started in the hallway, with warm water cascading down our backs. I reach behind him to grab the shower gel and then we're soaping each other, with some areas definitely getting more attention than others.

I drop to my knees as the suds rinse from us and Peeta moans my name as I take him first in my hand and then my mouth. I moan in response, there's something about the way he makes my name sound that is beyond erotic. I love knowing I do this to him, that it's me that makes him feel this good. And gripping my wet braided hair, he tells me just exactly how good it feels until finally he warns me of his impending climax. I pull back knowing exactly what I want, and what I'm certain will have me firmly ingrained in his mind rather than any redheads.

.

.

PPOV

" _I've got my period, so there's no point in me coming back."_

I know Katniss apologized straight after she said it, but she still said it. Whether she meant to or not she reminded me exactly what we're doing. We're not dating. She comes back to mine a few times a week, sure we eat dinner together watch a little tv, but there's only one real reason she comes back and that's sex. I might have started to feel like there is something more to what we were doing, but she obviously doesn't. But then she hasn't ever pretended that it was more, it just seemed that recently perhaps she did. Now I know I was wrong, it was just wishful thinking.

I'm still stupid enough though, when she mentions needing a drink at the end of the day, to be filled with hope that perhaps she has changed her mind. She soon set me straight on that though. It's a drink, not me that she wants.

My Tourette's is terrible all the way to the gym. I thought it was a good idea to meet up with a regular sparing partner to take my mind of things, but it doesn't work. Luckily it's not a real match as Boggs would have probably KO'd me I'm so distracted during our fight.

We arrange to meet again on Tuesday.

This time he really does knock me to the mat. I'm not paying attention and leave myself completely open to his hit. I go down hard. He's very apologetic I don't think he really thought he'd get a clean shot, I'm not usually that slow. By the time I get home I look like I've been in a traffic accident. This week is just getting worse and it's only Tuesday.

I've already suffered through a stand-up comedy routine's worth of jokes from Rory's about the state my face, when Katniss walks into the kitchen the next morning. She looks almost angry when she sees me, but then in keeping with the mixed messages she's been sending me recently, it suddenly seems like she's going to kiss me. At the last minute she notices Rory, and comes to her senses, then she can't get away from the kitchen or me fast enough. I think that pretty much sums our relationship up.

I end up brooding about it all day until I realise how damn melodramatic I'm being. Sure Katniss is leaving at some point, but there's no point sitting around whinging about how hard done by I am and feeling sorry for myself. Any relationship could hit a bump and end suddenly, this is no different. The sex is great, probably the best I'm ever going to get, so I should just make the most of it. I'm not in any hurry to make the first move again, I'm not sure my ego can take anymore rejection, but this is Katniss we're talking about and if she wants me she won't be shy about coming forward. And if she does, I'm not going to turn her down. I'm just going to enjoy this whilst it lasts. No expectations, no melodrama, just no strings attached incredible sex.

It's been a long day, I'm completely whacked and by the time it comes to lock up all I want to do is go home and crash. I'm just heading to the front door when I see a movement out of the corner of my eye that startles me.

"Katniss!" I gasp when I get over my shock enough to register that it's her and I'm not about to be robbed. "I thought you left ages ago."

"I was just leaving," she says and I can feel the disappointment tight in my chest. She's not waiting for you, stupid.

She asks if I'm headed to the gym and tell no, that I've had enough this week. Enough of everything really, I just feel like crawling under a stone and staying hibernating for a while, although I don't tell her that part.

"Any other plans?" She continues.

"No." Is she fishing? It seems like she is. _Don't get your hopes up Mellark stay calm don't show her what a hopeless case you are_.

"Any chance the offer of a bottle of wine and meal still stand?" She asks.

Although I was hoping that was where the conversation was headed, it is still a shock. "Sure, of course." I think I just manage to succeed in acting casual and not showing her how embarrassingly happy I am.

Katniss is pretty quiet on the walk home, she just asks me a few questions about Zoe from the florist shop for some reason. I don't want Katniss to think I'm one of those guys that judges girls solely on their looks, so I give her the polite answer and tell her Zoe is a nice girl, rather than I think there's something oddly canine about her features. Katniss looks away with scowl on her face, so I get the feeling I've said something wrong anyway. Katniss doesn't talk again for the rest of the walk and I'm starting to think the whole evening is going to be a disaster until we reach my place.

I've hardly closed the front door when she kisses me. For a second there's a stupid sense of disappointment knowing that she's here just for that and not for anything else. Then I tell myself to stop being so ridiculous and I kiss her back. I've missed her, and it feels good to have her in my arms again and suddenly I don't feel so much like talking either. I do remember that I smell like I've been cooking today's special 'beer battered cod' all day though. Katniss doesn't wait to be invited into the shower, instead she takes my hand and leads the way as if she lives here.

She unbuttons my shirt and helps me take it off, running her hands over my chest and down to the button of my jeans with a look of admiration in her eyes like I'm something special, and which almost makes me forget I'm just a pathetic sap who is hopelessly hung up on her. With our clothes shed we step under the warm water. It feels good, but nowhere near as incredible as the feeling of her lusicious ass under my palms. She helps herself to the shower gel, squirting liberal amounts in to her palms before rubbing and smoothing it over me. Our bodies slip together as we kiss hungrily again and she's soon just as soapy as I am. We take our time making sure we're thoroughly clean before letting the water rinse us clean. Her palm slides between us, cupping and stroking my balls and I groan into her mouth. She seems to take it as encouragement, repeating her actions as her tongue moves with mine. I close my eyes giving everything over to the sensation of her here with me and then she's gone. Pulling away from the kiss and dropping to her knees.

I thrust into her hand as she strokes me and teases me, tasting me with her tongue. Then she takes as much of me as she can into her hot little mouth. I moan her name loudly, my fingers splay out on the tiles behind me, trying to find something to grip on to. My eyes want to slide shut but I can't stop watching her. I moan something incoherent about how incredible it feels and she hums, her eyes fluttering shut with a look of pure satisfaction before opening them again to look up at me. After that I can't seem to keep my mouth shut. I think I simply repeat how amazing she feels but she seems to appreciate it. My hand somehow makes its way to her braid, gripping it tightly in my fist, but she doesn't complain. She looks almost as turned on as I feel.

I warn her when I'm close to losing it, although honestly I'm hoping she won't stop. She does though leaning back a little on her haunches she continues to work me with hand. I try to pull back to make space between us but my back is already against the wall and she's so close.

"Fuck Katniss!" I blurt as I come over her near perfect breasts.

Ragged, I collapse against the tiles as if someone just let the air out of me. She stands with a self-satisfied smile and then I watch as she palms her breasts, rinsing my come from her. If it was possible so quickly, I think I would climax again from the erotic sight.

She leans forward pinning me back to the wall, which is probably a good thing as I think my legs might be about to give in and kisses me with that talented little mouth of hers. I'm pretty sure I can feel her smirk.

I slide my fingers down her body between us. But she catches my hand before I can head further south than her stomach.

"Wash my hair for me?" she requests.

I nod. I'm fairly sure I'd do anything for her right now.

She turns about so I can loosen the hair from her wet braid. Weaving my fingers through it until it falls in wet strands over her shoulders. I grab the shampoo and massage it into her hair, then turn her about so I can rinse it under the running water.

She leans forward resting her forehead on my shoulder and I step us both under the water a little more. She wraps her arms about me as I run my fingers through her hair washing away the shampoo bubbles. Somehow this, being stood together, our bodies pressed close, her arms about me feels almost more intimate than what we've just done.

She doesn't let go of her hold about my waist, moving with me when I reach for the conditioner. She makes a mellow contented noise as I massage it into her hair and scalp and she nuzzles into my neck and places small kisses to my wet skin. Finally her hair is rinsed and we step out the shower.

There's a heavy kind of silence as we look at each other, wrapped up in bath towels and I'm almost going to say something that will stupidly reveal my true emotions when she speaks first.

"I'm famished. Didn't you promise me wine and food Mellark?"

I grin and nod, thankful that she spoke before I said something that would ruin everything.

.

.

KPOV

I open the wine whilst Peeta starts on the dinner. He says he just making a simple pasta. When I ask if I can help he says I don't have to but when I insist he gives me some fresh herbs and a little round bladed, two handled knife to chop them with. Peeta stirs my contribution into the sauce at the last minute, whilst I pour us a second glass of wine.

"Table or sofa," he asks, picking up the two bowls of pasta.

"Sofa?" He nods in agreement and I follow him with the two glasses.

We eat, watch a movie and generally slob on the sofa.

When I wake I'm on the bed, on top of the covers still fully dressed. The light from the bathroom is spilling into the darkened room. I stumble into the bathroom drunk with tiredness rather than the wine. I squint against the harsh light and head straight to the toilet.

When I look up from my seat I see Peeta, paused mid-cleaning his teeth looking at me in the mirror with a shocked expression.

"What have you never seen a girl pee before' is what I mean to say to him, but really all that comes out is a unintelligible mumble, as my head lolls forward too tired to hold itself upright.

He seems to be tactfully rinsing his mouth and splashing water on his face when I turn about from flushing the toilet.

I join him at the sink and hipcheck him out the way to wash my hands. When I look up he's still watching me. Not with shock this time but with another emotion something, that if I wasn't so tired, might scare me but which just makes me feel warm instead.

He leaves me to finish up in the bathroom and I use his facewash to scrub off the days make up. He's already in bed, bare chested with a bent arm folded behind his head by the time I've finished.

I strip down to my panties and then pick up one of the t-shirts draped over the arm of the chair Peeta dumps his semi-clean clothes on at the end of the day. I slip it on. It still smells of laundry detergent, but also undeniably of him as well. He turns the bedside light off as I slide into bed beside him. He unfurls his bent arm to wrap it about me as I snuggle in and lay my head on his chest. I feel him place a kiss to my hair almost at the same time that I press one to his bare skin. And then we both close our eyes.

* * *

 _ **So there you go. I might come back and tidy this up - (or I may not get the time) but would love to know what you thought.**_

 _ **And thank you so much for all your reviews on the last chapter, you asked for another November chapter and you got it - sorry it took so long.**_

 _ **Thank you for reading**_

 _ **D**_


	8. Chapter 8

**December – Part 1**

PPOV

The mobile in my back pocket silently buzzes again. It's been going off all morning but I continue to ignore it, I'm too busy to deal with the caller at the moment.

Delly had this great idea before she went on maternity leave that we should have a simple Christmas menu and take group bookings. We've never tried to enter the Christmas meal market before but she argued that with all the offices around here we were missing out.

As usual she was right and all available slots were booked out weeks ago. Now Wednesday to Friday lunch times are completely devoted to Christmas office parties. We're making a good profit on the excessive amount people drink at work meals but it's a lot more work than normal. Hazelle and Katniss have been rushed off their feet, and I've heard them grumble more than once about Delly setting this up, then disappearing, leaving them to deal with it.

The phone buzzes again. It's starting to get annoying. I wipe my hand, and pull my phone from my pocket, check the caller's id, that tells me it's Dad again, and then turn it off without too much guilt. He'll just be confirming I'm coming to Christmas dinner and that is one torturous event I really don't want to think about right now.

By the time lunch is over the guilt at ignoring the call is eating at me. What if Dad wasn't calling about Christmas but something is actually wrong?

I head out the backdoor and into the small paved over courtyard at the back of the building. It's drizzling and cold, but after being in the hot kitchen for hours it feels fantastic to be out in the fresh air. I lean back against the wall, take a deep breath, shake my hands out, roll my neck a few times then call my father.

"Peeta. I've been trying to get hold of you all morning."

"Yeah, sorry Dad, it's been really busy here. Christmas, you know?"

"Well, that's what I was calling about actually." He sounds stiff and apologetic. "Mark and Cashmere will be coming with Arabella and Henry this year." I'm glad Dad can't see my pained expression at the thought of my brother's family. I'm not looking forward to two whole days with the evil off-spawn of my asshole of a brother and his stuck up wife. "And you see your mother… that is we thought that …well, Arabella is at a very impressionable age and Henry has just started speaking, so perhaps it might be a good idea if you and your brother take it in turns to come for Christmas from now on. Next year they will be at Cashmere's parent's house, so it won't be an issue…"

He's still talking, I know he is, I can hear the drone in my ear but I'm no longer listening. I hate Christmas at my parents' house. It's like a heavy dose of festive torture each year where I get reminded what an utter disappointment I've turned out to be, get compared to my brother, who despite being the golden child despises and resents my presence. His wife spends the entire time with this look on her face as if I trodden in something disgusting. Then I go home on December 27th, breathe a sigh of relief and think how grateful I am that I don't have to go through it all again until next year.

I always wish there was some way out of the whole hideous obligation, but now there is I'm stunned. As horrific as Christmas is, it's the only time that I normally have any contact with them. It's the one point in the year when I'm reminded that I do actually belong to a family.

But my parents don't want me to come home for Christmas this year. My own parents have called me to tell me not to come because I'm too much of a liability. If I can't even be myself around my family without worrying about offending someone, then where can I be?

My head jerks so violent it hits the brick wall behind me. "Look…Dad," I manage to cut off whatever it is he's saying about Easter, "that's …f.f.f…" I squeeze my lips shut, my fingers pressed against them and hold in the curse that is desperate to escape. "I…I was actually going to c-c-call you, I c-can't make it for Christmas this year anyway."

It's disgusting how utterly relieved he sounds as I continue my lie and tell him I've been invited to Delly's for Christmas. Thankfully he doesn't know she's more likely to be giving birth on Christmas day than cooking a turkey. We half-heartedly make plans for me to visit at Easter, that I'm sure we both know will get cancelled closer to the time, before he hangs up.

I sink back against the wall my mobile hanging in my hand and try to take a deep breath. You'd honestly think I'd be used to this by now, but somehow my family still manages to come up with new ways to make me feel like utter rubbish.

I go back inside but I can't get the tics or the swearing under control. Katniss is in the kitchen laughing with Rory, she catches my eye before I look away and head into the storeroom. I don't turn on the light, just close the door and rest my head against the cool brick wall, screw my eyes shut and try to breath it out.

"Peeta?" Katniss' voice searches in the darkness, as I hear the door click shut behind her. "Are you in here?"

"FUCK!" explodes from my lips without a hope of being contained.

She doesn't turn the light on, but finds me in the small space. Her hand running up and down my arm in a way that usually brings comfort but that almost doesn't register today.

"Is everything okay?"

"My family," is all I manage before a string of obscenities. She doesn't ask for any more explanation than that. She's met them, so I guess she doesn't need to.

Her lips press against my neck, but I'm honestly worried I'm going to end up chinning her as my head jerks.

"C-c-careful. I don't want to hurt you," I warn and try to step away, but she steps with me and I end up with my back against the wall and her body pressed up against me.

"You won't," she whispers, kissing my neck again before I feel the nip of her teeth teasing my earlobe in a manner she knows I like.

Her hands run across the t-shirt I'm wearing. "Do you have any idea how distracting you are in these tops?" she asks.

I make some noise of disagreement but she continues. "I mean, didn't you think about getting anything a little baggier or was it your intention to get the female customers all hot and bothered?"

I honestly don't give the t-shirts I wear to work much of a thought, they're plain white with the café logo printed in small writing to the left of my chest. "Delly ordered them," I reply.

"I don't know whether to thank her or not," Katniss muses. "They really are very distracting." Her hand finds the bottom edge and sneaks under. It's cold against the warmth of my stomach and my breath catches, and then again as she begins to undo my belt.

"Katniss?"

"Shush," she whispers, before I feel her pull my trousers and then my underwear down.

I groan as I feel her tongue, her lips and then her hot little mouth on me. I moan her name and I find the braid her hair is woven into today and grip it tightly.

My mouth is open to the ceiling as my neck arches back, head against the wall. Her hands cup and stroke my balls as her talented mouth continues to take me deeper, sucking and working me with her tongue.

I moan her name again and inadvertently tug her braid. She lets out her own moan, but it doesn't sound like one of pain.

"Katniss, I'm going to come." She doesn't take any notice of my warning, sucking on me as I come into the sweet warmth of her mouth. She releases me as I melt into the wall like a pool of unset jelly.

She pulls my shorts and trousers back up, as she rises from the floor and then her lips press against mine briefly. "Better?" she asks.

I grunt in confirmation, unable to form any words.

"I'll take that as a yes." I can hear her smile before she kisses me again. Her tongue, that seconds ago was on my dick, now strokes my tongue before she pulls away.

"Well that's one workplace fantasy I can tick off the list."

"List?"

"Oh yes," she teases. "It's amazing what ideas come into my head during those quiet afternoon periods, especially with you strutting about in those t-shirts."

Strutting? I'm pretty sure I don't strut.

"Like I said, they're very distracting and my mind ends up running wild with all the positions you, me and those t-shirts could get into. This is number one ticked off the list, perhaps after we close up tonight you can help me out with number two?"

"Which is?"

"It involves you returning the favour - on the bar."

I groan. I'm not sure how she expects me to act like normal for the next four hours until we shut up shop. Then I realise that's exactly what I am doing, acting like normal. No tics, blinking or verbal explosions. It might not be so convenient, or socially acceptable in public, as Katniss stroking my arm but clearly being blown in the storeroom does wonders for controlling my outbursts.

"You're amazing," I murmur, before quickly remembering myself, and adding to cover up my momentary slip in emotion, "I look forward to it."

.~.

KPOV

Peeta's hands grip my knees, preventing my thighs from squeezing shut, as the overwhelming intensity of my orgasm rips through me and I cry out his name.

Peeta's tongue continues to sweep over me in long strokes, as the ripples of aftershock tremble through me. Completely naked, my back arched and my arms thrown out behind me for support, I am on top of the counter, right next to the cash register and where I prepare people's coffees and teas all day long.

"Shit Peeta," I gasp with incredulous praise, as he wipes his mouth and stands. "We should do that after work every night."

He just grins and shrugs in a 'don't mind if we do' kind of fashion. "Don't suppose there are any condoms in the pockets of those jeans?" I ask, as I sit up and slide my hand to the straining bulge in the front of his trousers.

He shakes his head and removes my hand, winding it around his back instead, as he steps closer to kiss me. "Come home with me?" he asks.

I freeze. Not because I don't want to, but because it's the first time he's asked since I turned him down last month. He always seems more than happy for me to stay at his, but it is always due to my initiative. And more than just that, this is the first time Peeta has ever asked so directly without hiding his request behind offers to cook me dinner. He has never asked me to choose him, rather than the pretext of a meal.

I feel his body stiffen, as perhaps he too realises what he's just said or perhaps maybe he's simply reacting to my silence. My hand in his hair, I pull him back for another kiss before I side-step what feels like a moment of consequence and typically make light of it instead. "Okay, but only if we continue this on that kitchen island of yours."

.

.

"Oh you, I remember you. Didn't you used to live here?" Jo sarcastically remarks, with mock surprise when I return late on Sunday afternoon. I pull a face but she has a valid point. I've spent the last three nights in a row at Peeta's. I only came home because I ran out of clothes. I'm currently wearing a pair of his boxer briefs, under my leggings.

"If you can manage to spare the time, we are having a Christmas dinner," Jo informs me.

"We are?"

"Yes, all misfits and homeless waifs with nowhere to go on Christmas day are welcome." I frown at her as she continues. "So far it's me of course, Finnick, Thresh, Beetee and some woman he's seeing, and Annie the new girl at work. You are of course welcome, seeing as you sometimes live here."

"I think I'll be expected to go to Aunt Haze's for lunch."

"That's fine, this won't be starting until about 5 o'clock to give me a chance to get over my obligatory Christmas hangover." Jo's firm has a tradition of shutting the office at lunch-time on Christmas Eve and then getting completely and utter slaughtered in the local pub. It's an incredibly messy affair and probably the cause of at least three divorces each year.

"I guess I could do two Christmases," I concede.

"That's sorted then. Oh, and you can invite this mystery man of yours as well. Don't look at me like that, you're not spending every night volunteering at a soup kitchen. Unless hickies are on the menu with the soup," she smirks. I instantly put my hand to my neck. Fuck I knew Peeta was being a bit rough last night, but then I guess I did ask him to be.

"I don't think he'd be able to, he'll be spending it with is family."

"Shit Katniss, you're not seeing a married man are you?" She says, with horrified disapproval.

"No! Not his family like wife and kids, his family family like his mum and dad."

"Well ask him anyway," she shrugs, and goes back to her book.

There's no harm in asking I suppose, its not like he'll say yes. But would I want him to, if he could come? I hate the thought of Peeta spending Christmas with that revolting collection of people that he calls a family, he doesn't deserve them - hell nobody deserves _them_ \- but that doesn't mean I want to spend the day with him instead, does it?

Spending Christmas day together seems awfully serious. Surely way too involved for what we've got going on? Things have felt different recently but we're not in a relationship, not really. Peeta is not my boyfriend.

Okay so I see him every day, but that's only because we work together. I mean, I know I've been sleeping at his place a lot recently, but who wouldn't? Peeta wasn't kidding when he said he used the money from selling his Mellark Company shares to buy somewhere 'decent' to live. It's like staying in a bloody penthouse compared to crashing in Jo's drafty attic room. There's also the added attraction that Peeta produces the most mouth-wateringly delicious breakfasts every Sunday morning.

And of course there's the other, glaringly obvious, reason I stay with him so much. Peeta Mellark is literally fucking amazing in bed.

It's not just that Peeta knows what he's doing, and believe me he does - shit the things that boy can do with his mouth, his tongue, his teeth! - it's that he listens. He actually takes bloody notice of what I want and that's the biggest turn-on of all.

No one would ever mistake me for a blushing virgin, but I suppose most of my previous 'relationships' would be better classed as brief encounters. If not one night stands, then they've been passing affairs, mainly whilst I was travelling. There have been a few exceptions like Cato but - just like Cato – they've always turned out to be horrible mistakes. In reality they're just a series of closely placed hook-ups for convenience rather than an actual proper relationship with any commitment. I've never been with a guy long enough, or with the frequency that I have now with Peeta, for anyone previously to get to know me the way he has. I've never been in a relationship this long before.

A _relationship_! Shit! I have my own toothbrush at Peeta's place, eyemake up remover, face cleanser, my own tea - because I only drink decaf, we even went grocery shopping together. Fuck, I'm not just staying at Peeta's every now and again, I'm practically living with him! Oh God, I can just hear what Gale would have to say about it all – he'd probably think it was hilarious! But it's not funny, I can feel myself breaking into a cold sweat just thinking about it.

 _Okay Katniss, you're over reacting. Just relax. Breathe._

Oh shit! I can't relax! How did I get into this situation? Does Peeta know we're in a relationship? Does he think he's my boyfriend? Oh god I'm going to end up really hurting him aren't I?

 _Calm down Everdeen, you sound like a crazy woman._

No one is going to get hurt. Peeta is a big boy. He knows the deal. He knows this is just a short term thing. He hasn't made any indication he wants more than what we've currently got going on. We've never even been out on a date for crying out loud.

This isn't a _real_ relationship, it's sex – that's all. Nothing else. Just convenient, incredible, mind-blowing, 'I'm wet just thinking about it' sex.

But Peeta is _not_ my boyfriend.

Which is exactly the way it's supposed to be. Isn't it?

* * *

 ** _Thank you to those of you who left a review for the last chapter, I'm glad you enjoyed it. It made the rushed effort of trying to get it written feel worth it._**

 ** _So I think last chapter Katniss began to come to terms with the fact that she really liked Peeta and there was no point in pretending that she didn't, but I don't think she was aware of just how much time she was spending with him until now. She has ever so slightly over reacted to this realisation - I don't think that having a toothbrush at someone's house warrants a panic attack - and that's why she then justifies it as being just about the sex._**

 ** _But what do you think, would she'd actually like to go out on that date?_**

 ** _I've worked out there's about 5-6 short chapters left or I could turn them into 3 longer ones. If you let me know what you'd prefer - a long chapter at the weekend or two short ones during the week I will post accordingly - the choice is yours!_**

 ** _D_**


	9. Chapter 9

**December - Part Two**

We're back in the stock room. The lights are on this time and there's no one else in the building, so there's no risk of anyone over hearing us. Which is a good thing, as Katniss is making no attempt to be quiet.

However it turns out this fantasy from her list isn't as practical as you'd think. We started off with Katniss' back up against the shelving, one foot on the bottom shelf, her arms outstretched to either side holding on to the edge of the shelf. The visual of her naked body spread-eagled like that was incredible, but in action it wasn't so great. The shelves were digging into her spine and I only just saved a king size jar of mayonnaise from smashing onto the floor as it was bounced forward by our movements. She flipped around to face the shelves, her ass pushed up against me, but the shelf she was holding on to started to protest so loudly it sounded like it was about to come off the wall. We've finally ended up in a similar position - Katniss' arms outstretched, her hands braced against the door.

All the stopping and starting has been off-putting and Katniss cursed the frustration of losing the momentum of her orgasm twice, but from the noises she's making now it sounds like she's regained it. I've learnt to read the language of her body as well as her sounds almost perfectly, so I know her end is imminent.

I grit my teeth and will myself not to lose control first as I drive a little harder and faster into her. She gives an almost pained groan as her body tightens around me, before crying out my name in a beautiful release, and I allow myself to follow after her.

I sway, slightly light headed, my heart pounding in my chest, physically unable to release the tight grip I have on her hips. Damn! Whether it's due to all the hours we've been spending together or some other reason, I swear it's never felt this good with anyone else before.

Katniss has been coming back to mine with increasing frequency, not just at weekends but several times during the week as well. We cook dinner together - well it's mainly me, but she helps – we eat in front of the TV, and then inevitably we end up in bed, or on the sofa, coffee table or kitchen units.

Only recently, there have been times like last night when we don't. It was an even more frantic Friday night than usual and we didn't manage to close the café until late. By the time we got back to mine Katniss was practically dead on her feet. I made us both hot chocolate, we curled up on the sofa and Katniss fell asleep before she reached the bottom of the mug. She woke up whilst I was carrying her to bed and managed to stay awake long enough to undress and clean her teeth and then she was out like a light. Funny thing is, it was nice just having someone to slob out with, crashing on the sofa and falling asleep cuddled up in bed and then waking up in just the same way. If I was stupid I could almost believe this was a real relationship. What do mean _if. W_ hen it comes to Katniss I'm about as stupid as they come.

As hard as I try, and as much as I know this isn't going to last, I can't help it. I'm falling, no, I've already fallen for her big time. I only hope my luck continues and I don't go and blurt out something stupid that wrecks what we have going.

Katniss straightens up and turns about to face me, leaning back on the door. "I think we can tick that one off the list and not bother again," she says. "Fucking up against the shelving was so much better in my head."

"Sorry to disappoint you," I say, but I'm not offended, it was very clear from the noises she was making that I didn't.

"Oh Peeta," she says, resting her arms on my shoulders and loosely linking her hands behind my head. "I don't think someone as hugely talented…" she drops her eyes to my groin briefly before looking back up at me, her eyebrows cocked, "…as yourself could ever disappoint."

Her seductive, overtly sexual comments are tongue-in-cheek, she's teasing me but I don't care. It still gives me a thrill to think that a girl like her seems to inexplicably think I'm something special. I pretty much told her so the other night, letting slip that I'd been called "worse than mediocre" in the past. She'd been outraged. _Seriously_ outraged. She told me whoever it was that I'd been with must have been "worse than shit" in bed and didn't know what they were talking about. We had had a few glasses of wine and Katniss' cheeks were flushed with a hint of drunkenness, so that might have had something to do with it, but she straddled my lap on the sofa and unabashedly told me she'd never had oral sex like she had with me before, that no one else compared. That on the nights she wasn't with me she brought herself to orgasm with her fingers thinking about it. God I'd been so hard! I'd wanted to take her right there on the sofa, but when someone tells you something like that it only seems polite to put in a bit of oral effort before hand. So I pushed the coffee table aside, lay her down on the carpet and let her loudly praise me some more.

"Peeta?" Katniss says, as we leave the storeroom. There's an awkward heavy tone to her voice that makes me nervous. But the last time she sounded like this she told me she wasn't leaving, so I can only hope that similarly it's not bad news this time. Still I can't help the awkward upward jerk of my chin, nor blurting out "Fucking Australia!" It's been a constant re-occurring tic recently and I think we both know why, although neither of us mention it. Katniss might have postponed her trip but it's not cancelled. And even if it isn't Australia it will be somewhere else, she still intends to go travelling again.

"Are you going away for Christmas?" she asks. I shake my head. "Oh really, I thought you'd be going to your parents," she says, looking surprised.

"No not this year." It comes out much more bitterly than I had intended.

"Right," she nods. "Um..well Jo, my housemate, she's holding a get together. She's cooking a meal - I think - on Christmas night and you're invited to come. If you want to, that is."

"I…" I don't know what to say, with the exception of Delly, we haven't met any of each other's friends. Katniss goes out with her friends and I join the guys from the gym for a few drinks now and again but we don't mix our social circles. If we're together, then we are always at my place alone. I didn't think she wanted anyone to know about us, so I don't understand where this is suddenly coming from.

"You don't have to," she rushes to fill my silence. "I mean I'm sure you have plans already."

"No, I don't." I don't feel like lying to her.

"So what are you going to do for Christmas?"

I try to shrug nonchalantly but it feels more like an uncomfortable cringe and I wish I had lied. I'm not sure how I'm going to manage to tell her the truth without sounding like a complete social reject. I blink and my face twitches before I confess, "I was just going to cook a meal, watch some TV and catch up on some sleep."

"Alone?" She stares at me incredulously and yeah I feel like a total loser. I attempt another non-committal shrug, like it's no big deal to spend Christmas alone.

"So why don't you want to come?" She asks, her forehead scrunching up with confusion.

"I didn't say that I didn't. I was just surprised that's all. I thought…" I blink a few times and my chin juts up as the moment gets more uncomfortable. "I didn't think that you wanted anyone to know about us. Does Jo know about me?"

"That you're my boss?"

"Um…FUCK…uh, that too, but I meant about my Tourette's."

"Well no, I haven't really told her anything about you at all. She just knows that I'm seeing someone."

"And you don't mind her knowing?"

"About the boss thing or the Tourette's?" I make a face at her, leaving her to draw a conclusion about what seems the most obvious answer. "Seriously, after Jo has a few drinks in her you'd think she had Tourette's, and as what comes out of my mouth has been known to make sailors blush, I'm not entirely sure anyone will notice you." I raise my eyebrows at her knowing that isn't going to be the case.

"Look my friends aren't your family, they're not going to care about this. And fuck them if they do," she huffs. "You are not spending Christmas day on your own!" She concludes with forceful finality.

There's no way I'm about to get into an argument with Katniss whilst she's scowling at me like that. So it looks like I'm spending Christmas with Katniss.

* * *

 ** _Hope you enjoyed this little chapter, I'll try to update again mid-week time permitting._**

 ** _If you have time it would be lovely to hear what you think. Think of your reviews as early Christmas presents -and I could really do with them right now because my Monday was just rubbish :(_**

 ** _Thanks for reading._**

 ** _D_**


	10. Chapter 10

_**It's going to be a busy weekend so I thought I'd drop a quick update in now instead - just a little something to get you in the festive spirit before the weekend.**_

 _ **Hope you enjoy!**_

 **December - Part 3**

PPOV

The restaurant closed at lunchtime on 23rd and we're not due to reopen until after the New Year. Delly and I have made the decision to close for the full holiday period for the last couple of years. With so much of our trade based on lunchtime traffic from the surrounding offices, it's pointless opening before everyone is back at work.

Delly came in on the last day so that we could give gifts to all the staff. We closed up at lunchtime and had a sit down meal with everyone, including the students that just work part-time at the weekends. Delly looked like she was ready to pop, at one point I was seriously worried she was going to go into labour, but apparently it was just indigestion.

I felt bad telling to her that I was going to spend Christmas with my parents as usual, but I didn't want to make up a whole new set of lies to cover up where I'm really going to be.

Katniss is spending the day with her Aunt and cousins, including Hazelle's eldest son Gale and his family who are visiting for the holidays. Katniss is planning on eating a Christmas dinner at the Hawthorne house and then eating another one at Jo's later on. Something Katniss doesn't seem to think this is at all excessive. "I reckon I could comfortably eat three in one day, and still have room for a couple of extra mince pies." Was her only comment, and she's probably right. For such small person she has an impressive appetite. She's teased me more than once that she's only interested in me for my cooking skills, and I'm not sure there isn't some truth in it.

Katniss has explained to Jo about my Tourette's and that I'm one of her bosses. Apparently Jo's only response was that if I was a chef I could bring the dessert.

I told Katniss I had a Christmas pudding left from last Christmas I could take along. She wrinkled up her nose at the news of a year old pudding, still not convinced even when I explained that they're always best after they've matured for a year. She was only mildly more reassured after she found out I had been feeding it with brandy for the last few weeks.

I spent this morning baking bite-sized mince pies, which are now cooled and packed up in a tin ready to take. The brandy butter has been made and all I have to do now is roll up the chocolate and hazelnut roulade. I know that Katniss likes nuts and chocolate, so she shouldn't screw up her nose at this dessert.

The ingredients are all lined up and I'm just about to start when there's a knock on the apartment door.

I expect its Mrs Maggs from across the hall. I left some of the mince pies in a box on her doormat earlier, a joint Christmas present and apology after she complained about the noise coming from my apartment late at night. I had thought that the deaf old dear wouldn't be able hear anything, despite the fact my bedroom shares a wall with her apartment, but I guess I was wrong.

"Katniss!" I'm genuinely surprised to find her on my doorstep when I open the door.

"Is this all right?" she asks. "Shit, I suppose I should I have called first, shouldn't I? Do you have company?"

"No, not at all, of course its all right. I was just cooking dessert for tomorrow. I thought you'd be at Hazelle's."

She shakes her head. "Nah, there's not really any room with Gale and Madge there, not when they seem to pop out another kid every year. Jo's out on her work's annual night of drunken debauchery and I wanted to…um...didn't feel like spending Christmas Eve in an empty house. So is this okay, me being here?" Her cheeks darken a little and she shifts awkwardly.

"Of course, I'm really glad you're here," I tell her, stepping aside so she can come in. Did she really think there was even the remotest possibility that I would turn her away? My heart sinks as it dawns on me just how oblivious she is to how I really feel about her.

.~.

KPOV

"Oh my god! What is that incredible smell?" The whole kitchen is full of the most delicious mouth-watering aroma. It's chocolate, but _so_ much more than chocolate.

"That is for tomorrow," Peeta states, smacking my fingers away from the thin flat chocolate sponge, which is definitely where the smell emanates from. "I was just about to make the filling."

"Do you want any help?" I offer, hoping he says no. I'm pretty sure he will, he's seen my attempts to help with cooking before.

"No, but you can make some mulled wine whilst I finish this up."

Peeta places a chopping board and knife in front of me and even finds me an apron, slipping it over my head and tying it about my waist. "There, you almost look domesticated," he grins cheekily. I'm about to give him a smart answer back but he kisses me and I forget what it was I was going to say. He tosses me an orange from the fruit bowl that I smugly catch with one hand. Once I've sliced the fruit up I follow his directions on adding brown sugar, cloves, cinnamon sticks and a little muslin bag of spices to the pan of wine.

In the meantime Peeta whips some thick cream, before adding vanilla paste and grated white chocolate.

He spreads it inside the flat sponge cake, then rolls it up and dusts it with icing sugar. Then I watch with horror as he simply places the mixing bowl and utensils in the empty sink.

"Oh come on," I groan at him. "You've got to be kidding, you've got me slaving away in your kitchen and I don't get so much as a lick of the bowl?" He steps back over to the sink, runs his finger around the bowl before walking towards me, his finger held out in front of him as if he's beckoning me.

"Here," he says with a smirk, offering out his finger. "You can lick this." I could tell the smug bastard to keep his cream, but truth is I like it when he's cocky and confident. There's hardly a sign of his Tourette's when he's like this, only a slight nod from time to time that someone who didn't know better would just presume was due to Peeta swallowing heavily, like he has something stuck in his throat. It's such a change from the self-conscious Peeta that, according to him, I intimidated the hell out of when I first started working at the café. He's like a different person, if he stays like this after I'm gone he won't have any problems meeting someone else. The thought makes me swallow uncomfortably.

Taking his hand in mine I guide his finger to my mouth. Slowly and deliberately I lick the cream from his out-held finger, staring into his eyes as I swirl my tongue around its tip before sucking his digit fully into my mouth. That wipes the smug grin from his face and transplants it to my own.

"How about that drink of mulled wine then?" I ask casually, taking pleasure in seeing the way Peeta has to surreptitiously rearrange the front of his trousers as he fetches the tumblers.

We settle on the sofa and watch the end of an old movie and then channel hop about, commenting on how crap the choice of TV is. Peeta makes us toasted cheese and ham sandwiches as I ladle a second round of mulled wine into our glasses. We settle back on the sofa and watch a comedy Christmas special that gets re-run on TV every year without fail. I may have already seen it about six times before but I still find myself in hysterics. I suspect Peeta ends up laughing at me more than the show, but I don't care. As the evening goes on though, I do find myself getting more on edge.

Deciding to come round to Peeta's wasn't an on the spur of the moment decision, I planned it. A plan that seemed like a good idea at the time but which, after the lovely afternoon and evening we've spent together, now feels unnecessary. Like somehow my plan cheapens the time we've been enjoying. The later it gets and the closer it gets to us going to bed the more ridiculous the whole idea seems.

I'm still sat on the bed in my jeans when Peeta comes out the bathroom. His eyes roam over the bra I'm wearing. It's new, a deep forest green with flecks of gold stitching around the edges. I know my tits look great in it, that's why I bought it, but if I had had any doubts they would have been allayed by the fact Peeta seems unable to stop admiring me. Eventually his line of vision makes its way up to my face. "You okay?" he asks.

I nod, but he eyes me suspiciously for a second longer before he strips of his top and chucks it on to the armchair that acts as a holding station for the day's clothes. His jeans join his top on the chair and then he pauses his hands on the waistband of his boxer-briefs, looking back to where I'm still sat.

"Do you want something to sleep in? A t-shirt or something?" he asks uncertainly.

I shake my head and stand up. I feel nervous. No, more than that, I feel shy. Me, Katniss Everdeen, shy? I can't remember the last time I was shy. Maybe when I was 14 or something? I don't get nervous around men, they either like me or they don't, and I don't chase men that aren't interested in me. By the time I get to the clothes taking off stage I'm usually pretty convinced they want me. I know Peeta wants me, he doesn't hide that, so why do I suddenly feel so damn self-conscious?

I undo the fly of my jeans and halt. "Um, so remember how the other day, you were telling me how your brother ruined Christmas for you when you were little by telling you that there was no Father Christmas. And then your mother said there was no point in still giving you a stocking if you knew he didn't exist, and that you were too old for it anyway. And I said that was criminal because you're never too old for a Christmas stocking?" Peeta nods, but there's a bemused look on his face. "Well, I thought perhaps you should have a Christmas stocking this year, or maybe two." I let go of my unfastened jeans and wriggle a little so that they drop about my ankles, then kick them clear. I'm left standing in the thong that matches my bra, as well as a pair of lace topped hold ups - not quite stockings but near enough – that I've had hidden beneath my jeans since I arrived. Peeta is staring at me like he's just been hit with a freeze ray. It seems my earlier fears are confirmed, this is the worst idea I've ever had. To make things worse, if the heat in my cheeks is anything to go by, I'm also bright red. Great - green, gold and red - at least my mortification is festive!

His continued silence is unnerving. It's only when he blinks and swallows, with his familiar tic, that I feel my body relax. He steps closer, his eyes travel over me like he doesn't know where to look first before his gaze comes to rest on my chest again.

His chin juts a little as he gently fingers along the gold stitching that decorates the very edge of my bra. His delicate touch just skims my skin leaving a trail of goose pimples in its wake.

"Did you…" he blinks and his chin juts again, "…buy this for me?"

I could lie and say no or give a facetious response about doubting it would fit him, but I don't. I simply nod.

He presses three fingers to his lips as his eyes screw shut, in the painful fashion he adopts when he tries to hold his outbursts in. I reach for his fingers and his eyes open in shock.

"Don't," I say, removing his fingers. "You don't have to do that, not with me."

His body seems to relax and I think the pressure has gone until he blurts "fish" four times in a row. It's probably not what every girl dressed in her sexiest undies wants to hear her boyfriend say, but it's him and it's me, and I don't care. I just don't want him to feel he needs to hide who he is.

I lean in to kiss him and his hands find my waist as he kisses me back, but it is not long before his hands slide up, over my ribs, to my bra again.

He breaks the kiss to watch as his hands slowly glide over the silken cups, gently at first and then with increasing pressure. He bends his head to kiss the cleavage that, thanks to the clever under-wiring and padding, is spilling over the top. I gasp as he unexpectedly nips at my flesh, then moan his name as he sucks at the same spot. He pulls down the material of the cup, freeing my breast and exposing my nipple so that he can suck it greedily into his mouth.

"Oh god, Peeta," I rasp, as he repeats the action on the other side, and every muscle south of my belly clenches.

His intent gaze meets mine as he raises his head, his lips and then his tongue joining mine. His hands hold me to him, as he fills his palms with the bare flesh exposed by my thong. I press against him and he moans into the kiss.

"My Christmas stockings were never like this," he says, as his hands find the lace top of the one of the stockings.

"Well you know, you're a big boy now," I smirk, but for some reason my teasing doesn't sound as confident as normal. Not wanting to ponder the reason why I slide my hand between our bodies. I find him satisfyingly hard and straining against his shorts. Sliping past his waistband I take him in my hand, stroking then squeezing, as I work his hardened length. He moans my name and then I'm suddenly on my back, as he practically tosses me on to the bed.

I watch him, still stood at the end of the bed, as he pushes his shorts down and off, and I feast on the glorious nakedness of his hard body. I see him blink and swallow, somewhere in the back of my mind I'm aware he's been doing that all along, but it's so inconsequential I've barely noticed. He seems to be feeding on the sight of my body just as much as I am his. Almost unconsciously it seems, he begins to stroke himself as he looks at me. The wanton moan that escapes me seems to break him from his trance, and his eyes widen as he watches my fingers slip beneath the silk of my panties.

"Fuck Katniss," he growls, and I know it has absolutely nothing to do with his Tourette's. He continues to watch me as my fingers move over my increasingly wet skin, my back beginning to bow from the bed and my breathing growing heavier, all the time unable to take my eyes off of his own hand's movements as he continues to stroke himself.

"I want you Peeta," I moan. I want to feel every deliciously thick inch of him deep inside me, and just the thought has me moan his name again. He moves across the bed, straddling me as he reaches into the drawer of the bedside table to retrieve a condom. I take it from him, hastily rip the packet open with my teeth and then roll the condom down his length.

He moves down my body, first pressing a kiss to my centre through the silken material of my underwear and then running his tongue over the already damp material.

"Peeta," I plead, my voice needy and impatient.

He drags my underwear down and off, his tongue returning to repeat his previous action this time without the barrier of my underwear. I moan his name again at the sensation, but I want more.

"Please Peeta, I need to feel you."

I don't need to ask him again. With his elbows braced on either side of my head, Peeta slides slowly, deliciously inside. I groan out some garbled version of his name and grasp hold of his back, my fingers clinging to him like I'm afraid to let him go.

He retreats before pushing back again just as slowly but with more force. He continues, his pace slowly picking up speed, as my body rises to meet each of his thrusts and then I'm crying out for him to go harder.

He meets my demands until we're moving together at a desperate rate, with an intensity that makes the headboard slam against the wall, almost loud enough to drown out my grunts of exerted pleasure.

My nails dig into the taut hard muscle of his ass. His face is strained, I know he's trying to hold on for me and I beg him for more time, "Please, oh god Peeta, I just…I…oh fuck… please don't stop."

He hooks his arms beneath my knees lifting my legs a little higher, a litte wider, knowing that that angle works better for me and he's rewarded by the sudden convulsion of my body as I cry out. He comes with me, releasing the climax he's been desperately holding back.

His breath falls heavy in my hair as he lets his head fall to the bed. He makes no attempt to move away and I'm glad.

Eventually he lifts his head, looking at me with such an earnest, intense look that I'm almost driven to say something stupidly emotional that I'm sure to regret later. So instead I kiss him.

Eventually he rolls off and over to dispose of the condom, grabbing some tissues from the bedside table and wrapping it up to dispose of later. Then he's back, wrapping me up in his arms.

"I can honestly say, Santa never brought me anything like that in my stocking," He grins. "This," he runs his finger along the gold stitching of my bra, "may possibly be the best Christmas present I've ever had."

"Eek, no pressure for the real presents tomorrow then," I laugh, but I'm only half joking. I've been having second thoughts about the gifts ever since I decided what to give him.

"Presents!" His expression is one of utter horror. "You didn't say anything about presents? I didn't think that you and I…" and then the bastard starts laughing. "Oh Katniss your face. Did you honestly think I wouldn't get you something?"

"Ass!" I punch his shoulder, but we're too close for me to get a real swing so it's not hard. He wraps his arms a little tighter about me and smiles widely before it falters a little. "Don't take this the wrong way," he says, his words accompanied by a jerk of his chin, "but I'm really glad you didn't have anywhere better to spend Christmas Eve."

Thing is, right this second, I can't think of anywhere else I'd rather be. I don't tell him that though, I just kiss him again and if he works out the answer for himself then so be it.

"So?" Peeta asks, with an expression that falls somewhere between sheepish and down right cheeky, as his eyes fall to my bra. "Are you planning on sleeping in that?"

I shake my head, knowing the under-wiring would be way too uncomfortable.

"So in that case, is it okay if I finish unwrapping the rest of my present?" he smirks.


	11. Chapter 11

**December - Part Four**

I've been awake for ages by the time Katniss opens her eyes. Her hair is all bird-nest like and there's a pillow crease down one cheek, but she's still the most amazing sight I've ever woken up to on Christmas morning. Even better than the Scalextrics set I got when I was eight.

I can't believe that a week ago I was feeling sour about my parent's rejection, now the thought of not having to go home for Christmas is like a gift in itself. I don't even care that I'm going to spend half the day on my own, because tonight and hopefully tomorrow I'll be spending it with Katniss.

The only downside is that there's a risk that she might end up finding out how stupidly in love with her I'm falling – correction - _ha_ _ve_ fallen. I know that's not what she wants, but at the same time there is no denying that our 'relationship' is changing. The way we act with each other is changing. I've never felt as confident with anyone as I do with her. I know it's because I feel comfortable with her and in turn that has a positive effect on the intensity of my outbursts. And Katniss is different too. I might be reading too much into it and seeing what I want to see, but it feels like she's opening up and I'm getting to see a side of her that I didn't before. The one that's hiding under the outspoken hard exterior, that hints that there might be some underlying vulnerability.

Katniss stretches like a cat, her arms above her head and arches her back with a sleepy groan.

"I'm hungry," she comments.

"You want breakfast? Don't you think you need to leave some room for the two Christmas dinners you're planning to eat today?" I laugh.

She shakes her head. "It's all part of the game plan. I need to stretch my stomach in preparation for later. If I go hungry too long my stomach might shrink and then I'll never fit it all in," she says with complete seriousness, but there is a cheeky glint in her eye.

"You just want me to get up and make breakfast for you, don't you?" I start to get out of bed but she stops me.

"No. I don't want to get up yet."

"That's okay you can stay in bed," I smile.

"I don't want you to get up yet either." She looks embarrassed by her request. I'm sure the Katniss of a month ago would have just ordered me to stay put, pushed me onto my back, straddled me and got what she needed without a hint of embarrassment. Something has definitely changed. I just wish she looked a bit happier about whatever it is.

I kiss her neck and perfect breasts until she does looks a lot happier and then, grabbing a condom, I lie on my back and help guide her onto me. She rides me until the noises she makes tell me she's definitely happy. Afterwards, as she lays with her head on my chest, I think the words I can't tell her. The fear I'm going to blurt them out becomes my enemy until all I can think is, "I love you" and I have to press my fingers to my lips, pinching them together to stop it coming out.

"Are you okay?" She asks with concern, as the stupid tic that has my chin nodding upwards becomes more pronounced. I nod. "Happy Christmas Peeta," she says, kissing beneath my jaw line and then down my neck. I feel my body relax a little but I still don't think I have a hope of getting through the next two days without ruining everything.

.

.

Katniss texts me just as the Queen's speech is starting on TV.

 _Got Aunt Haze_ _'_ _s car will pick you up in 1/2 hour._

I don't think I've felt this worked up about seeing a girl since I went on my first date. I was about 13, just before the Tourette's really kicked in. In those days it just manifested itself as an annoying nervous cough, or at least what everyone thought was a nervous cough. I took Sarah Levin to the cinema, she had this sticky looking lip gloss on that I could smell was strawberry flavoured and made her lips glimmer when the light from the screen caught them. I spent all night worrying about whether I was going to get in a mess and end up smearing it over both our faces when I kissed her. In the end I didn't have to worry. I didn't get to kiss her and I heard that Brian Marvel took her to the cinema the next weekend.

Thing is, this is the closest Katniss and I have been to going on a date and I know the keyed up feeling in my stomach isn't just nerves at the prospect of acting like a complete tool when I meet her friends.

I've laid out a shirt and smart trousers to get dressed into but now I look at the outfit it screams 'trying too hard'. Sure this feels like a date to me, but Katniss doesn't know that. Perhaps I should just stick with the jeans I'm wearing, but as I check my reflection in the mirror I see they have some cake mixture on them from cooking yesterday.

I've tried on two different pairs of jeans and about six shirts by the time Katniss buzzes the intercom. "I'll be right down," I tell her as I grab the bag I've packed. I don't know whether to expect to stay at her's tonight, or whether we'll come back here, but to be on the safe side I've thrown in clean clothes for tomorrow and a toothbrush. The presents for Katniss that she wouldn't let me give her this morning, as mine were still at her house, are also in the bag. There's also a big tin full of mince pies, a cake box containing the roulade and the Christmas pudding so my arms are pretty full. Katniss jumps out of the car when she sees me struggling towards her with the load.

"Jeez Mellark what have you got there? Were you planning on moving in?" she exclaims, taking the boxes from me.

"No," I answer, perhaps a little too defensively, "it's mainly edible."

"Good," she grins. "Because I'm not planning on sharing my roulade with anyone."

….

KPOV

Peeta is pretty quiet during the drive to Jo's. It doesn't take us long as the streets are almost deserted, yet I notice it's long enough for the involuntary jerks of Peeta's head to get progressively more pronounced. I insisted Jo pre-warn everyone about Peeta's Tourette's, and whilst I'm fairly certain no one will be intentionally rude, I don't want things to be awkward for him. I know nerves tend to aggravate his condition. I've thought about it a lot, I'm certain that if Peeta's family had been more accepting and understanding from the start, he would be a lot less self-conscious and care a lot less about what people think now.

I park outside Jo's and jump out to get the door for Peeta, as he's got the boxes resting on his knees. "T-thanks," he says with a slight stutter, blinking.

I let myself in with my key and kick off my boots. I see Peeta looking down the corridor, probably expecting to find people, but the ground floor is quiet. Jo's four storey town house has a bit of a strange layout. When she inherited the old building from an uncle she totally gutted it. Now the ground floor holds an office, a utility room and a bedroom rather than the expected kitchen and living space.

"Come on, the kitchen's up here," I tell Peeta. Voices can be heard coming from the large living-dinning room at the top of the stairs. I also hear Peeta behind me blurt, "Fuck!"

"Katniss," Finnick greets me, getting up from the couch where he's been sat with a dark haired girl I don't recognize. I presume she must be the new girl from Jo's work.

"And you must be Peeta," Finn says extending his hand. Peeta blinks hard and his chin juts up as he shakes Finn's hand.

I glare at Finn in warning, but it's not necessary. "And this is Annie Cresta," Finn says, concluding the introductions.

"Hi, I work with Jo at Heavensbee & Templesmith," she smiles, shaking Peeta's hand. "It's nice to meet you at last Katniss," Annie says, turning to me, "Jo talks about you a lot."

She does? I'm surprised, then instantly panicked about what Jo has said about me. What kind of a picture has she painted? Nomadic drifter with crappy jobs, who sleeps with far too many men and never wants to settle down?

"We better drop these off in the kitchen," I say, and quickly steer Peeta away.

Jo has a large knife in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. "Are you the chef?" she asks, pointing the knife at Peeta.

"Fuck!"

"Exactly, thank fuck you're here," Jo responds. "If we want to eat before New Year's I'm going to need some help."

"What do you want us to do?" I ask.

"God not you!" she responds in horror. "I've tasted your cooking. You can go and open another bottle of wine - see if Finnick and Annie need another drink. The wine is in the fridge in the utility room downstairs."

I hesitate, uncertain whether I should leave Peeta with her. "Go on," Jo shoos me impatiently, "I've nearly finished my drink," and then downs half her glass in one mouthful.

I fetch the bottle, refill Finnick and Annie's glasses and go though the motions of swapping pleasantries and stories about Christmas, all the time feeling uneasy that I've left Peeta alone for this long.

When I open the kitchen door, Jo and Peeta are both roaring with laughter. The sleeves of his dark shirt are rolled up and he has a stripy apron tied round his waist. He's chopping up vegetables and Jo is stirring something on the hob.

"At bloody last! I thought I was going to die of thirst," Jo snarks, holding out her glass for me to fill. "I like this one," she states, and I think she means the wine until she continues. "Can I have him when you leave?" Her eyes wander appreciatively over Peeta's physique.

Peeta makes a choking noise, accompanied by a violent jerk of his head and goes red, whilst I glower at Jo. "What?" she says, addressing me with indignant innocence. "It's not like he's going to fit in your backpack when you hit the road again is he?" She raises her eyebrows as if goading me to argue back. But what can I say? _Keep your hands off he_ _'_ _s mine, bitch_ _!_ is what I want to say. But it's not true, not if I'm leaving.

"FISH! FUCK!" Peeta exclaims at the same time that the doorbell rings downstairs.

"Get that will you?" Jo says, turning back to whatever it is she is stirring as if making the point that she's too busy. Peeta gives me an apologetic smile, as if it's his friend not mine that's being a pain.

The kitchen door swings wide, slamming into the wall with force, as I storm out the kitchen. Finnick and Annie are laughing in the living room, and it's total paranoia I know, but it feels like it's directed at me.

I stomp down the stairs to the front door. |t's Beetee with the woman he's currently dating. She introduces herself, but she has such a strong eastern European accent that I find it difficult to understand. It sounds like her name is Wireless, though I'm sure that can't be her real name, anymore than Beetee is really called Beetee. Barry Tse simply got abbreviated to his initials when he was a child due to his struggle with pronouncing Rs and the nickname stuck.

By the time we've gone through all the introductions and everyone has a drink, the doorbell rings again, this time with the arrival of Thresh and his kid sister Rue. By the time I'm free to return to the kitchen I've been gone for what feels like hours.

Peeta and Jo are leaning against the kitchen counter apparently finished with dinner preparations. They are both laughing and drinking something out of mugs that I suspect isn't tea. I feel excluded from their private party and I don't like it.

"I didn't bring Peeta here just so you could make him work in the kitchen," I point out.

"We've finished now," Jo says, raising her mug to me. Her grin seems to taunt me and I glare at her, the smile falls from Peeta's face as he witnesses the exchange.

"It's okay, I don't mind," Peeta says, his eyes blinking hard and his chin jutting up. I feel bad knowing I'm the cause of his discomfort until he adds, "I'm having fun with Jo," and then I feel a lot less guilty.

"Well I don't want you stuck in the kitchen all day, it's not fair." I cringe at how much I sound like a whiney, spoilt child and I quickly bite my lip to prevent an accompanying pout.

"Well, I suppose I should go say hello to my guests," Jo says, eyeing me with tight-lipped amusement as she pushes away from the counter. She tops up both Peeta's and her mugs with whiskey that was hidden behind her. She doesn't offer me any, instead merely raises her eyebrows as if daring me to say something and sashays out of the kitchen.

"Are you all right?" Peeta asks.

I don't answer, taking his mug from him and taking a sip of his whiskey to prevent me from saying what will make me sound even more like a sulky brat. But as soon as I swallow the words come out anyway. "What were you and Jo laughing about?"

"She was telling me about one of the partners at her law firm getting drunk and doing karaoke last night," Peeta responds, frowning at me. I instantly feel pathetic and immature for asking.

Peeta steps closer to me, I think he's going to kiss me but he simply takes his mug from my hands and takes a sip.

"Are you sure you're all right?" he asks again. I nod, but I'm not. I'm jealous. Sulky, ridiculous and jealous.

He puts his mug down and places his hands on my waist, about to pull me closer, when the door swings opens and Jo breezes in again. "Empty," she explains, waving her mug. "And all the good stuff is hidden in here." She reaches around Peeta her body unnecessarily close to his to grab the bottle. "Do you want some more?" She asks him.

"Actually I think I better use the bathroom?"

"Upstairs," Jo and I both answer in unison.

"You can wipe that scowl of your face," Jo says, as soon as Peeta leaves the room. "I'm not about to steal your boyfriend."

I open my mouth but she doesn't give me a chance to speak.

"And don't be so obtuse as to argue that that's not what he is. It's obvious that you like him. I can't believe it," she smirks with evil delight. "Katniss Everdeen has finally fallen in love."

My eyes dart to the door but are immediately drawn back to Jo by her sound of disgust. "It's all right no one heard me. Are you really that terrified about him finding out?" She shakes her head and looks at me pityingly, before pouring herself another drink and leaving me alone in the kitchen.

Jo is royally drunk by the time the turkey comes out the oven. As is Beetee, he practically falls asleep in his dinner. Finnick is still on fine form playing to his rapt audience of Annie, who giggles at all his jokes. Jo spills the brandy and nearly sets me on fire instead of the Christmas pudding. No one can understand a word that Wireless says - I think maybe she's from Hungary -and I'm still not sure what her actual name is. Peeta only has two word explosions, one a mild Fish and the other shit-stick, which is then picked up and used by everyone as a general insult for everything from the sprouts that Jo insists we all eat - "Its tradition" - to the rubbish jokes in the crackers. Everyone seems to like Peeta and he seems to like them. I feel a strange mixture of pride and relief.

"They seem to be getting on well," Peeta comments, looking over at Finnick and Annie. They're sharing an oversized armchair in the lounge where we are all now slobbed, our stomachs groaning from over-eating, whilst still being unable to resist helping ourselves to just a few more of the mini-mince pies Peeta brought with him.

"Hmmm,' I hum looking at them. "I hope she knows what she's letting herself in for, Finn is the biggest man-whore going, you'd be hard pushed to find a woman in the Capitol he hasn't slept with. Annie seems far too good for him."

Peeta nods solemnly and thoughtfully. I'm hit by a sudden sick feeling that has nothing to do with the gigantic portion of chocolate and hazelnut roulade I had for dessert. I might as well have been talking about us. Peeta is far too good for me.

* * *

 _ **Thank you so much to anyone who left a review for the last chapter - it honestly means a lot to get the feedback.**_

 _ **I will try very hard to update again over the Christmas period but I'm going to be away for a few days. If I don't post before I hope everyone has a wonderful Christmas!**_

 _ **D**_

 _ **p.s. only a couple more chapters to go I think.**_


	12. Chapter 12

**December - Part 5**

PPOV

I can't get what Katniss said out of my head. _You_ _'_ _d be hard pushed to find a woman in the Capitol Finnick hasn_ _'_ _t slept with._ Was she implying that she and Jo fall into that category as well?

Should I be surprised? Finn is charming, quick witted and funny, you can't help instantly liking him. So it's not exactly a surprise to discover that he doesn't have any problems with women. I can't imagine anyone has ever made a lame excuse and walked out on him halfway through a date, something I've experienced more than once. Not everyone can handle the staring that accompanies a pronounced bout of Tourette's.

Even Katniss, who seems understanding of my condition, hasn't exactly been in a hurry to be seen out in public with me. Until today she's insisted that we keep our arrangement secret and I've agreed without any argument. Because no matter how much I tell myself that Tourette's doesn't define me and that it hasn't limited me - I have a successful business, good friends, people that care about me, even if they're not my family - when it comes to relationships I still don't honestly believe that I'll ever achieve what Delly has with Thom. Not just that I won't be lucky enough to find it, but that it's not realistic to even expect it. That clandestine affairs with girls that just want to hook up - whilst knowing I'm never going to be the one they'd think about settling down with - is what I've come to expect. I am prepared to settle for less, even though I tell myself that I shouldn't.

When I entered into this _relationship_ with Katniss I knew full well that it was never going to be anything more than just a stopgap fling for her before she hit the road again. I never expected it to develop into anything more, because I knew Katniss - unashamedly confident and attractive - was totally and utterly out of my league. And I didn't care, I wanted her even if it was only for a short time. I know what this – us – really is. No matter how much it feels like it, and no matter how much I wish it were, this is not a real relationship.

Katniss has been quiet for the last ten minutes, nearly everyone is watching some Christmas movie on the TV but her pose, sat rigid on the edge of the sofa, is in stark contrast to the way Finnick and Annie are sat wrapped about each other. For all the contact between us, Katniss might as well be sat on the other side of the room.

I read some statistic somewhere about the number of couples that break up over the holiday season, after valentines it's the most popular time of the year for couples to call it a day. I presume it's all that time off work spent together that makes people realise they don't have anything to talk about or, that when they do, they don't actually like each other.

"Katniss," I say quietly, just loud enough to get her attention. "I…uh…" I can feel my emotions and nerves getting the better of me as my chin juts upwards and I blink painfully. "Is there somewhere I c-could FISH give you your present."

She nods but she doesn't look keen.

She leads me upstairs to a smallish bedroom in the converted attic. Our bags are already on the bed, I guess she brought them up earlier whilst I was in the kitchen.

We both sit on the edge of the bed, facing each other. Katniss with one knee bent in front, part cross-legged.

I grab my bag and pull out the wrapped gifts. They look bigger and more impressive than I fear they really are.

"Open this one first." I offer her the largest of the two.

"No." My heart sinks and I brace myself for her explanation of how she can't accept the gift and that she's decided we need to put an end to our 'arrangement'. Instead she says, "I want you to open mine first." But her troubled expression prevents me from feeling too relieved.

She pulls two gifts out from under her bed. She sits looking at them for a moment before making her decision. "This one first," she says, as she hesitantly hands the gift to me.

She looks beyond apprehensive as I ease open the sellotaped joins. I'm surprised by the contents, a dark blue, almost navy, knitted beanie. It has a cable design and feels incredibly soft.

"I hope it fits," she says, "I'm worried I made it too small."

"You knitted it?" She nods as I pull it on. She reaches out to adjust it, pulling it a little further back off my forehead.

"It's a good size," she smiles, looking genuinely relieved with what she sees.

I check my reflection in the mirror before I pull it off to take a closer look at the work. "I can't believe you made this, it looks so professional."

She shakes her head, "I made a mistake, just here, see." She points out something but I can't see any flaw.

"That just makes it unique. A one off Everdeen design. I love it," I tell her truthfully and she beams back at my praise. I'm incredibly touched that she spent this time on a handmade gift for me but it makes me doubt my own choice of gifts.

The second gift still sits on the bed. She doesn't offer it to me and I'm not sure if I should help myself. "Shall I open this one?" I ask. She nods and her smile shrinks.

It's clear as soon as I pick up the gift that it's a book and my heart sinks. My gifts are going to seem even more uninspired if I'm giving her the same thing.

But it's not the same. When I cast aside the wrapping paper I'm left holding an old notebook. It's a bit dog-eared and what look like magazine and paper cuttings protrude unevenly from between its pages. On the first page in neat but juvenile handwriting is a recipe for _'_ _Granny_ _'_ _s fruit cake_ _'_ _._

"It was my mother's. She started writing it when she was a kid and just kept adding to it. She was always cutting out recipes from magazines, but only the ones she had tried and liked made it into the book," Katniss explains.

"Katniss," I breathe in stunned amazement. "I can't keep this. It's yours."

I offer it back to her but she shakes her head and puts her hand up to stop me. "It's just been sitting in a box in Aunt Haze's attic for the last eight years. Please I want you to keep it. Mum would like the thought that someone who can actually cook might make something from it." She gives me a weak smile before pressing the still out held book back towards me.

"I'll look after it for you then. Until you…" I'm about to say until you come back, but that sounds like I'm presuming she's coming back to me, so I quickly change it to, "Whilst you're travelling."

She looks as awkward as I feel, so I quickly hand over her first present.

She rips off the paper to uncover the bundles of folded material. Holding them up she reveals three pairs of leggings.

"I thought…" I can't hold back the jerky head movement that interrupts my sentence. "That…because yours were all so thin and worn that you could do with some new ones." Of course there's a chance I'm being an insensitive dumb-ass, and that is exactly the way Katniss likes her leggings. "I sized them up against some of your old ones so they sh-should fit."

"Thank you," she looks way more impressed than a few pairs of leggings warrants. "It's really sweet of you."

I hand her the other present. Her face is quizzical, as she must realise straight away that it is also a book. She tears off the paper and then her face is unreadable as she studies it.

I wish I knew what she is thinking as she runs her finger over the embossed letters that spell out her name on the front of the leather cover. Both my offerings seem so unoriginal and impersonal in comparison to hers.

"It's…FISH…," I try to take a calming breath but its interrupted by the sharp thrust of my chin. "It's a travel journal. I…I remember that you said you always keep a diary of the places you visit."

Her silence and the somber look on her face certainly wasn't the reaction I was hoping for when I decided on the gift.

She strokes the leather again then opens it to flip through the pages. Part of me was hoping she wouldn't do that, and that she'd only find what I've put in there one day when she was sat on a beach, somewhere a million miles from here. She stops on the picture I impulsively added about two-thirds of the way through. It's just a basic sketch in black biro, but I was pretty impressed with the result. It looks kind of like one of those etchings you see in old books.

She reaches out to touch it but stops, her fingertips hovering just above the page, as she places all the familiar people I've added to the café scene. There's Delly and Hazel laughing at a table as they fold napkins, a couple of our regulars sat at the tables, and Rory is leaning on the bar talking to Katniss. Her fingers seem to search and then come to a stop at the open door to the kitchen. I'm there, small in the background, working at the stove.

She looks sad. I can't believe I screwed up so badly with what I believed was a thoughtful twist on something she said she would want.

"You should have been here," she says, pointing at where I've drawn Rory talking to her. Still not looking at me she adds in a quiet voice that doesn't sound like her. "I don't want to lose you."

"I'm not the one going anywhere." I speak without thinking and freeze when I realise that it probably sounded callous, but it's true. I'm not the one who is going to leave. She doesn't respond, perhaps she's expecting me to say something else. Like I'll wait for her, which I would - if I knew she was coming back. But she's not going on a two week holiday, she's planning on living and working on the other side of the world and I don't know when or if she's coming back. I can't stay behind waiting and hoping she'll return without really knowing if she will. It's going to hurt enough without putting myself through that as well.

"I'm scared," she says in barely a whisper.

"Scared?"

"Of us…you…the way I feel," she says, struggling with the words as if they're hard to admit.

I don't know what to tell her. I know what I want to say. _I love you_. But I think that would terrify her even more than she already looks. I reach out for her and she rests her cheek against my palm. "Does it help to know I'm just as scared?" But not for the same reasons I'm sure. I'm scared of allowing myself to love her and then suffering the inevitable pain of losing her.

"You always seem to know the right thing to say." The absurdity of her comment makes me laugh and she smiles back, the gravity of the moment alleviated somewhat.

"You know what I mean. Not _those_ things obviously. But the rest of the time. You always seem to know what I need to hear."

Ironically I can't think of a thing to say in response, so I pull her into my arms for a kiss and then bring her to recline on the bed with me, her head on my chest.

"Don't take this the wrong way," she says without raising her head. "But I'm really glad you didn't have anywhere better to spend Christmas Day." She's repeating my words from the other night but she doesn't sound like she's teasing.

"I can't think of anywhere else I'd rather be," I tell her honestly, too tired to pretend I'm not in love with her.

She places a kiss to my chest, right over my heart. I'm sure it's not intentional, more likely it's simply a result of the way she's lying, but it still feels good. And despite the fact she's scared of falling in love with someone like me, I still feel hopeful. Enough so that perhaps tomorrow I might just bring up the subject of her return from Australia, or wherever it is she ends up travelling to.

The odds are for once in my favour, because her breathing has become shallow and regular, and her eyes have been closed for some time when "I Love you," bursts from me like an unwanted expletive. I hold my breath but she doesn't stir. Thankfully, somehow I haven't woken her and ruined what has been the best Christmas since I was a kid and I got that Scalextrics set.

.

.

I must have fallen asleep, as when I wake the light is still on and we're both still fully clothed on top of the covers. I ease myself out from under her and switch off the light before finding my way to the bathroom. On my return I kick off my jeans and slide back onto the bed beside her. She snuggles back into almost entirely the same position as before, as I pull up the blanket from the bottom of the bed to cover us

When I wake again the room is full of sunshine, the curtains cracked slightly open and I'm alone in bed. I close my eyes and must doze again, as I'm woken as the bed dips and a head is placed on my chest again.

"Mornin'," I mumble sleepily.

"Hi," she says, her chin resting on my chest as she gazes up at me. She looks almost shy and very un-Katniss like, or at least what people expect her to be like. She's scrubbed her face clean of yesterday's make up and I can smell toothpaste on her breath. She's no longer wearing her leggings and I can feel her bare skin and cold feet against my own legs.

"Come here," I try to move her up my body, but she puts her hands on top of mine to stop me.

"Wait, I've got something else I want to give you. It's not really a present," she explains, as she reaches over to open the drawer of the bedside table. She rights herself again to sit astride me a piece of paper in her hands and I shift to prop myself up against the headboard.

"It's just that I didn't want you to think…that just because I don't…I didn't date that I was…careless before I met you. When we started seeing each other regularly I um…I had a test …you know just be certain. I didn't say anything because we've been careful but I wanted you to know."

She hands me the piece of paper, it's the test results of her STD screening. Everything reads negative.

"I didn't think that you were… _careless_." I'm not sure how I felt when Rory made the comment about her not dating just fucking, but I certainly didn't condemn her for it. My own love life hasn't exactly been made up of steady serious relationships, more like short-lived flings followed by inevitable letdowns and disappointments. And although they were never really what I was looking for, I'm not a total stranger to one night stands. I'm not going to judge Katniss for her history anymore than I want her to judge me for mine. Our pasts are exactly that - the past.

"I had a test when I discovered that the last girl I was …um." Dating is definitely not the right word for what me and Clove were doing. 'Using me' is what most of my friends said she was doing - not answering my calls for weeks then turning up out of the blue, sometimes to 'borrow' money. "…I was seeing, was sleeping with someone else. It was clear. There wasn't anyone else until you. I still have the printout somewhere at home."

"I trust you," Katniss says. Slowly she raises the top she's wearing up and off over her head, so that she's straddling me in just her underwear. It's mismatching and nowhere near as sexy as the set she revealed on Christmas Eve, but she still looks amazing and honestly right now I just want to get her out of it as quickly as possible.

I watch as she unhooks the bra and slides it off, tossing it to the floor to join her top. With her hair loose and fallen about her bare shoulders in waves, she looks like some pre-Raphaelite depiction of a classical beauty.

"Are you just going to lie there?" She quirks a sarcastic eyebrow at me. "It's not some sort of peep show you know, audience participation is expected." Her earlier uncertainty and shyness it appears has been cast aside with her clothes, and she smirks down at me.

I slide my hands up over the smooth skin of her sides to reach her breasts and she sighs and rolls her hips against me as I feel her nipples harden at my touch.

She rocks against me again. "Why are you still dressed?" she breathes. I'm not for long, as we shed the remains of our clothes, and then I'm groaning as her slick, warmth slides against me.

"Do we…?" I begin.

She shakes her head answering me before I really have to ask. "I'm on the pill," she explains between gasps as she continues to move above me. And then, with her teeth biting into her bottom lip to almost successfully contain her exquisite moan, she lowers herself around me. She feels unbelievable.

Bracing her hands on my chest she takes it slow, rocking with deep intense movements until she finds her rhythm and picks up speed. I'm more than happy to let her set the pace, I'm almost afraid to do _anything_ that could possibly change how amazing she feels. I don't think it's just the lack of barrier between us – although that certainly has something to do with it - it's more than that, and I could be reading more into it just because I want to, but it's not just the sex, _we_ feel different too. Something has shifted and the way we are together, that feels different too.

Katniss gets louder as she gets closer to her climax. She's undoubtedly woken anyone who might have been sleeping in the room below, hell she's probably woken half the house, but I wouldn't try to quieten her for anything. My name is the last thing she says and that's it, the restraint I've somehow managed can't compete and I spill inside her.

"Shit," she sighs slumping down on me. "I'd forgotten how good it feels without a condom, but still, that was without a doubt…," she lets out a heavy breath. "That was…fuck… you felt."

I'm not sure I can take the credit, seeing as she just did all the work, but I'm not about to argue, my ego is happy to take the praise.

We pull the covers back up and lie like that for a long time just lazily kissing and me running my fingers through her hair until she says, "I'm hungry, do you want to get out of here?"

* * *

 _ **So I hope you all made it to Father Christmas' nice list and he brought you everything you were hoping for!**_

 _ **Sorry it took me ages to get round to posting this - I better hurry up as December is nearly over! This was originally twice as long but decided to split it and I'll post the second piece some time tomorrow - then you'll have something to save to read during your hangovers on Friday ;)**_

 _ **Thank you so much for reading and reviewing!**_

 _ **D**_


	13. Chapter 13

**December – Part 6**

KPOV

We're both acting like over excited kids as we drive down to the coast, surfing through the radio stations on Haze's ancient car stereo and singing along to cheesy pop songs. Peeta's singing is truly awful and off-key, and has us both in fits of laughter.

It's cold at the beach but it's a clear bright day and I love the seaside on wintery days like this when you've practically got the whole beach to yourself. There are a few dog walkers and one family flying a kite but that's about it, otherwise the place is ours. Peeta is wearing the beanie I made for him, and I'm glad now that I deliberated for hours over which wool to buy. I wanted something soft but not so much so that it wouldn't hold its shape and it took ages to decide on the exact shade of blue. Now that I see it with a few blonde curls escaping from the edges and the way it seems to emphasize the blue of his eyes I know I made the right choice. He's so bloody good looking its almost criminal, and despite the glorious view of the sun dancing on the cold winter sea I find myself watching him most. Holding my hand and wearing a big boyish smile, his tics are almost non-existent. There's merely the motion that looks like he's swallowing hard, which is barely noticeable.

We walk a long way down the beach and find a secluded sunny spot on the rocks out of the chill of the wind. I sit on Peeta's lap and we make out like a couple of horny teenagers for hours. I'm literally one second away from straddling him and fucking him right there on the beach - I've already started to undo his fly - when a couple of dogs with their owner come and sniff us out.

Chuckling we call it a day and head back up the beach with me happily snuggled under the warmth of his arm that is slung about my shoulders.

I'm surprised to see a pub open on the seafront but it has a sign outside saying _Open Boxing Day_ and states food is being served, so I suggest we go in. I see the immediate change in Peeta's face at my suggestion, a tension slipping into his previously relaxed features, but he agrees.

It's much busier inside than I expected. There's a folk band playing in one corner of the pub and a crowd of people standing at the bar drinking, but there are still a few tables free for food.

"Why don't you grab a table and I'll get us some drinks?" I offer.

"No. I'll buy you a drink," Peeta insists, his tone so adamant that you'd think we were discussing something of much greater significance than a just beer.

As I slide into a seat and watch Peeta make his way to the bar, I see the upward jut of his chin becoming increasingly more pronounced. He has to squeeze his way through the crowd to get to the bar and ends up with his fingers pressed to his lips. I have an almost overwhelming urge to rush up there to help him out, but Peeta is a big boy, he's been living with Tourette's a long time, this isn't the first time he's been in a bar. He's been doing this without me for years, but I still have a desperate desire to protect him from the unwanted attention he's attracting.

I don't so much hear Peeta over the music, as see the reaction of the people around him who have just witnessed one of his outbursts. Peeta hurriedly says something to the barmaid, his hands held up in peace and apology. She nods, but her face is still unsmiling. He leans forward to say something else and then she laughs and pats his hand as she looks over in my direction.

He comes back with two bottles of beer and a packet of crisps. "I hope you don't mind, I ordered some food," he says as he sits down. "The kitchen was just closing so I ordered two sausage and mash, it was pretty much all they had left."

"That's fine with me," I tell him, as I grab the crisps and pull the packet open. "What did you say to the barmaid?"

Peeta blinks and nods awkwardly. "Oh, you noticed. I…I called her a fucking slut."

"No, not that. Afterwards, when she was laughing."

"I asked her to take pity on me. That I was here with this gorgeous girl and I was never going to make it past the first date if I couldn't even manage to buy her a drink," he says, avoiding my eyes as he helps himself to some crisps. I notice his cheeks and the top of his ears turn a delicate pink as he talks.

I narrow my eyes at him, but he continues to avoid my gaze. I feel he's missed something out of his story, but at the same time I'm distracted by something else he said. "First date?"

"We've never really been out," he shrugs.

"What about the bi-centennial bash?"

"That didn't count, that was before." His ears and cheeks grow a little darker.

I guess he's right, and I know he means 'before' we started sleeping together but I almost feel that if we had been out before yesterday it still wouldn't have been a date. It would have just been us going somewhere before we went back to Peeta's place. I didn't allow myself to consider that Peeta wanted to take me on a date, but the importance he seemed to place on buying me drink a few moments ago makes me think that perhaps he has done for sometime. I feel guilty that he didn't feel he could ask. "I'm sorry, I was just broke when I first started working at the café. I was trying to save every last penny to go away and I guess, to begin with, I just really wanted to get you home and into bed as quickly as possible, as often as possible."

"That's not how you feel any more? I don't know if I should be offended," he smiles, but his voice sounds off, and his joke is accompanied by an awkward tic that makes his eyes blink and chin jut.

"No," I realise. "No, I don't think it is." I chew my lip as I mull over my revelation. Peeta's smile wanes and he looks wary.

"FISH!" His chin jerks as he expels the word, garnering us a few glances from the tables about us.

"The travel journal was a lovely idea, really it was. But I…I don't think that I can use it. Not now."

Peeta stares at me with an ashen face and wide eyes like he can't believe what I'm saying. Shit! I suppose it's possible that sounded like the beginning of a breakup speech. I quickly try to explain, "I don't want a travel journal because I don't think I want to go travelling, not right now anyway. I don't want to go to Australia. I think I'd like to stay here." I swallow, "with you."

"Stay?" He still looks bewildered like he hasn't quite understood what I'm trying to tell him.

I nod, a nervous churning in my stomach. "Here with you, if that's what you want."

"God yes, I just begged the woman at the bar to take pity on me 'cause I've met the woman I want to marry but I don't stand a chance in convincing her if I can't even get through the first date!" His cheeks burn with a ferocious heat the second his rushed words end and his head seems to catch up with what his mouth just said. His chin jerks and he tries to continue, "I mean…FUCKING AUSTRALIA… I was just joking FUCK to, you know, get the barmaid to stop hating me." Peeta is so pink now he looks like he could combust.

I laugh, trying to make him feel better, but it doesn't really feel like a joke. I don't really feel like I want it to be a joke and that terrifies me. I know I need to explain.

"Peeta…"

"It was just a joke Katniss. I'm not about to get down on one knee," he reassures me again, still looking utterly mortified.

"I know that, but I just want to…" What do I want? I don't know where to start or what I'm really trying to tell him. What a screw up I am I guess, but without completely putting him off. "…to warn you I suppose." He looks both wary and confused now. I give an exasperated sigh, frustrated with how rubbish I am at expressing myself, but then I've never needed to have this conversation with anyone before.

"I think…" but I can't think with those earnest blue eyes looking at me, like they're waiting to be hurt so I close my eyes. "I think that I know that I um…that I want to be with you, but I haven't done this before. I've made a point of not doing this before. I don't date, I don't have relationships, I just…"

"Fuck?" He finishes my sentence for me.

"Yes," I say, opening my eyes to look at him. I open my mouth to explain but I'm interrupted by two plates of sausage and mash being delivered to our table. Suddenly I'm not at all hungry.

I just need to get it out, so I blurt it, like ripping a plaster off. "My father and my sister they both died in a car crash about ten years ago, and my mother she tried but she couldn't get over it. She threw herself under train, they ruled accidental death but it wasn't. I know it wasn't. The loss it was just too much for her and I guess, well that I...I just wasn't enough."

"Katniss," he reaches for me across the table but I pull my hand away. I'm pretty sure if he touches me I'll start crying and I don't cry. Not ever, not about this, not any more. I've shed enough tears over it in the past. "So you see I've seen first hand how destructive love can be and I've tried my hardest not to fall in love. Honestly it hasn't been that hard. But you…I think with you, there's a real danger.

"The other night you said something. When you thought I was asleep." Peeta's eyes widen and know he knows exactly what I'm referring to. "I need to know, did you mean it or was it just words?"

"I meant it, but believe me it wasn't the way I wanted to tell you," he stresses.

"It's just…" I take a deep breath. "It's going to take me a while to get there. It feels like second nature to fight this feeling and I wasn't kidding the other night. It's scares the shit out of me feeling like this…so…so…I don't know…vulnerable? But I liked it - more than I wanted to - hearing you say you love me."

"So you don't mind if I say it?" His voice suggests he's joking but his expression implies completely the opposite.

I shake my head.

"That's good, because I really don't appear to have much of a choice over it," he gives me a wry smile that I can't help but return.

When the barmaid comes to clear away our plates she gives Peeta a wink and asks with a nod in my direction, "So how's it going?"

"Not bad," he grins, never taking his eyes from me. "I'm pretty confident there's going to be second date."

* * *

 _ **It's probably a bad idea to post a chapter when you are completely and utterly rat arsed but I'm just going to do it anyway - so I apologise for the mistakes.**_

 _ **Hope you all have a good new years eve and that your hangovers don't last too long!**_

 _ **Thank you to the 3 or 4 people who loyally read and review this story, it there's anyone else out there reading please let me know, I would really really love your feedback.**_

 _ **One more chapter and we're done here.**_

 _ **Happy 2016!**_

 _ **D**_

 _ **p.s I have recently become addicted to western/prospector/pioneer stories and have completely devoured and exhausted all MTK4FUN's stories (which I love despite their lack of M rating!) so if you can recommend any similar stories please please let me know.**_


	14. Chapter 14

**Epilogue**

A lot can happen in nine months.

Like two babies.

Delly's and Thom's - a little girl named Alice.

And Delly and Peeta's - a new restaurant closer to the city centre.

Motherhood doesn't appear to have slowed down Delly's drive. She might not have returned to work straight after Alice was born, but she used the time to come up with 5, 10 and 15 year plans for expansion which, if she has her way, will result in a small chain of cafés and restaurants across the Capitol and neighbouring districts.

Rory with help is now running the original café, whilst Peeta, Delly and I have been busy setting up the new site. It's a larger, smarter restaurant based in the financial business district and accordingly the menu is more geared toward business lunches, with a large room upstairs that can be hired out for private functions and meetings. It was hard work for us all, overseeing the building refurbishment, recruiting a new team of staff, and - in particular for Peeta –creating a new menu. But it gave him the opportunity to move away from just soups, frittatas and sandwiches and show what he was really capable of. The new menu is based on a theme of rustic healthy home-style cooking but with Peeta's own delicious twist on old favourites.

We were only open for only a month when unknowingly we were visited by the food critic from the _Capitol Times_. He lauded Peeta as a ' _talent to watch'_ and stated that we had secured a position in the top ten places to eat in the city.

I bought two copies of the paper that day. I cut one article out and - much to Peeta's embarrassment - had it framed and hung in the restaurant. The other one I posted to his parents. I didn't tell Peeta I did it, and I don't think he got any response from either of them, but I just wanted them to know about his achievement and how amazing their youngest son is.

We've barely had an empty table since the review appeared, which is fantastic, but it also means that Peeta and I have had very little spare time for anything else, including dating. Although he did get that second date and the third, the fourth, the fifth and so on.

This is the first weekend that Peeta has taken off since Christmas, and he's beyond nervous about leaving his 'baby' with Jackson his sous chef, but I think I successfully managed to take Peeta's mind off it last night and again this morning. Although right now, with the way he looks - carrying a heavy box with his shirt sleeves rolled up - it's me that's having a hard time trying to keep my mind on what it is that we're supposed to be doing.

"I can't believe that's everything," Peeta says, setting down the heavy box of books next to my rucksack and two other small boxes. "Are you sure there's nothing else? There's nothing at Hazelle's that you want to get?"

I shake my head, "No that's it. That's all I need." Honestly, it's the most I've owned for a long time. When I moved in with Jo I only had the rucksack.

"So that's it then?"

I nod, as Peeta steps back out into the hallway. "Katniss come out here a moment, will you?" he beckons.

I step outside the apartment and join him staring at the open front door. I'm not quite sure what it is I'm supposed to be looking. With an unexpected movement Peeta swoops me up into his arms.

"What are you doing?" I squeal.

"Carrying you over the threshold of course," he grins.

"That's what you do when you get married not move in together, you idiot," I scoff.

He just laughs and shrugs. "I don't care. I'll do it again after our honeymoon," he says, making my cheeks heat. Peeta says things like that a lot. He hasn't exactly asked me, he knows I'm not ready yet. But he drops comments about marriage and kids all the time, as if they're both a given. And I guess he's right. They are. Just not yet.

I swat at his shoulder though, as if I'm annoyed by his comment, but he just laughs again and ignores my demands to be put down. He kicks the front door shut behind him and carries me straight through to his bedroom. Which although, I'm only just officially moving in, has been my bedroom for months too.

Peeta drops us both to the bed. I don't waste any more time pretending to be annoyed with him, we haven't had this much time alone for months and I'm not sure when we'll have the opportunity for a weekend off again. It would be stupid to waste it.

I moan his name in repeated encouragement as he makes short work of stripping us both of our tops, quickly unsnaps the fastening at the back of my bra and frees me to his greedy mouth. His teeth drag over my nipple as I clutch at his hair. He feasts on me until he's had his fill and then he moves on to satisfy his new desire, kissing down over my stomach and ridding me of my leggings and underwear. The feeling of his tongue swiping over me, sucking and tasting my skin has me arching up to meet him, rocking my hips for greater gratification.

"Fuck Peeta…need you…oh fuck…I need you now."

He complies shoving down his jeans and underwear and slamming into me.

Somewhere at the back of my brain I register that the bedroom window is still open, that there's a good chance the people on the street below can hear us, and that I'm going to regret not closing it. But right in this second I couldn't give a fuck who hears because there is no way I'm stopping Peeta from doing what he's doing, and whilst he's doing what he's doing, I don't stand a chance of keeping quiet.

I shout his name sandwiched between two expletives, when he finally rides me over the edge. With ragged breath I watch him as he continues to move above me, his forehead furrowed as if he's in some exquisite pain.

"Say it, ungh… say it," he groans.

"I love you Peeta." It never fails, it pushes him over the edge every time. I love watching him come, gazing into my eyes with this look of beautiful, glorious ecstasy on his face.

"I love you," I murmur into his hair, as he collapses his weight on me, his forehead resting against the crook of my neck.

He turns to kiss me. "God you're beautiful," he breathes with a look of total wonder, like it's the very first time he's realised and he hasn't already told me the same thing 100 times before. It's the way he always looks at me just after sex. I hope he never stops looking at me like that.

"I love you," he says, before kissing me again, then rolling over on to his side taking me with him.

"How about when we're married I carry you over the threshold naked, then we wouldn't just be repeating the same thing as today," he grins in a way that I know means he's been thinking about it for a while and he thinks he's really funny.

"It would certainly be different for the neighbours," I say, rolling my eyes at him.

"Well they have _heard_ it all before, so they might as well see it too," he teases.

My attempt to look unaffected is thwarted as I blush hotly, my gaze falling on the open window. "Do you really think they heard us?"

"Everyone," he nods with a proud smirk, "even that guy that lives in the basement who's always drunk whenever we see him. He must be jealous as hell right now."

"Peeta!"

"What? I've seen him looking at you. Anyway it's not the first time the window's been open," he dismisses.

"It's not?" I say, my voice rising in dismay.

Peeta shakes his head with amusement, "It was open most of the summer, you know that."

"No I don't! I always closed it before I got ready for bed."

"Yeah and I always reopened it a little it whilst you were in the bathroom, how can you not have noticed?"

"Shit! No wonder the guy from next door always smiles at me strangely."

"Katniss, I think the guy next door could hear you whether the window was open or not," Peeta laughs.

I cover my face with my hands. I never had to worry about this sort of stuff before. The benefit of brief encounters that only last a couple of weeks is that when they're over you move on and don't have to see them or their neighbours again. But I'm not going anywhere this time, I love Peeta and I _really_ like this flat. I don't see us moving for a year or two, not until we have kids and need somewhere bigger with a garden.

"What?" Peeta asks, clearly seeing the shock on my face from where my train of thought just took me. "Shit I'm sorry, I really thought you knew about the window, I presumed you didn't care. I f..f..fish…I promise I'll tell you next time I open it. Look I was only joking about the guy next door …FUCK… he probably hasn't heard a thing."

"It's not that," I quickly reassure Peeta, as I note his increasing tics. "I was just thinking about gardens."

"Really?" he looks confused, until a moment later he grows a wickedly cheeky grin. "When we move into the house with the big back garden, the one we'll live in with our three kids, you will have to learn to be quiet. You'll need to be, or all the neighbours will hear us on those warm summer nights when we do it in the garden!" And then he ducks as I try to hit him with a pillow, only for him to knock the weapon from my hands, roll me over and trap me with his kisses. He pauses to ask with genuine sincerity, "Do you want me to close the window?" But I'm already too lost in the way his hands feel as they caress my breasts, and when his mouth latches on to my neck I definitely know I don't want him to stop to get up to close a bloody window or any other reason. Anyway it's not like the neighbours can actually see us, and I've never cared about being loud in the past before.

"No. Fuck it," I tell him. "Let them listen if they want to, I don't care. It's only words."

 **THE END**

* * *

 _ **Sorry this took a million years to post but some times real life stuff like work, relationships and everything else generally turning to shit have to come first.**_

 _ **I hope there is someone still out there to read this last chapter - if so hope you enjoyed the story and thanks for coming along for the ride.**_


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